


and I ended up here

by Mizzy



Category: The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Book 3: The Magician's Land, Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, Invisibility, M/M, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Peril, Moving On, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Oblivious Quentin Coldwater, Past Abuse, Pining, Plans For The Future, Post-Canon, Unresolved Mental Health Issues, post-trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26771389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: When Quentin has a run-in with the Unseen Monitor's offspring and is turned invisible for the privilege, Alice and Quentin try to activate Plan B: crawl back to Eliot.Only for Fillory to come and find them first. Because Eliot's in even more trouble than Quentin is, and he needs their help.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 21
Kudos: 48
Collections: A Million Little Times





	and I ended up here

**Author's Note:**

> Written (belatedly) for the Queliot Folklore Event, thank you to the mods for their hard work running this (and letting me submit late!!) 
> 
> Inspired by Taylor Swift's "this is me trying" and set after "The Magician's Land". :)

* * *

"Well," she said, "if we fuck up our lives completely we can always go crawling back to Eliot."

"Right," Quentin said. "We'll always have that."

_Lev Grossman – The Magician's Land_

* * *

They only realized something had gone wrong when Quentin realized his reflection was missing.

It wasn't surprising that it took them a few days to notice: there weren't many mirrors in Quentin's land. Quentin had his theories about that. Memories of the _wrongness_ of the mirror house loitered awkwardly in his subconscious, in the cracks and corners of his mind, lingering like dust. It was likely that the magic to create this world had picked up on that mild dislike. There were still _some._ Like entropy and failure, some things seemed to be quite inevitable, and mirrors apparently counted in that category.

Once Quentin had screamed at the discovery of his invisibility at an embarrassingly loud volume, they set to work on verifying several important things. _Yes,_ Quentin was invisible. _Yes_ , of the few creatures they ran into (several Fillorian talking animals had discovered Quentin's land and promptly moved in), only Alice could see or hear him. _No,_ none of the spells they collectively knew could do a damn thing about it. _Yes,_ he could touch things still, and eat, so he wasn't going to die any time soon.

It wasn't quite deep or arcane magic, but it _was_ elemental in a way that made Alice grin one of her niffin-sharp smiles. It was interesting magic. It was Alice's favorite post-niffin thing: something _new_.

They brainstormed furiously, and Alice—in her typical over-achieving way—took only twenty minutes to diagnose the problem, and she sighed in disappointment that this shiny puzzle had a relatively easy answer. At least, when it came to its origin. It only took them a day of back-tracking to verify it too: the small nest of lizards that Quentin had accidentally disturbed with what had just been some garden-variety clumsiness was, indeed, the offspring of the Unseen Monitor.

Apparently Quentin, in his exuberance for his temporary job as God of Fixing Fillory, had given all of the Questing Beasts the ability to breed.

"For someone who never knew when to initiate it," Alice said, side-eyeing him with an expression Quentin couldn't decipher, "you really do have sex on the brain more than most people."

Quentin's cheeks felt warm. "Sorry," he said, even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was apologizing for. He supposed he was apologizing for who he was. He also supposed he couldn't really say it was unwarranted.

Tracking down the Unseen Monitor Themself didn't even help either: they hadn't been the one to grant the invisibility to Quentin, which would have at least given them a timeline to work with. Quentin had stepped on one of the baby Monitor's tails—his invisibility and inaudibleness was _their_ Gift to him. Alice could only see and hear him because of her lingering Niffin traits.

"Well," Quentin sighed, after the Unseen Monitor had literally vanished rather than talk to either of them again, "what now?"

Alice frowned. "Did you do this just because I said we should go our separate ways once we went back to Earth?"

Quentin stared at her. "Yes. I deliberately stepped on a tiny, cute baby lizard's tail to make you stay with me a few days longer."

"It's a shame your sarcasm didn't vanish at the same time you did."

Quentin didn't stop staring at her, even though it shifted more into a glare. "So what's the plan?"

"The same plan we've had since we set out." Alice raised an eyebrow. "You're invisible and only I can see you. If that doesn't say _fucked up completely_ to you, I don't know how much _more_ messed up you want to get."

Quentin finally looked away from her, out at the sight that had become increasingly familiar over their last three months exploring the place. He'd done a much more thorough job creating his land than he thought. Forget ten acres, his land stubbornly stretched onwards for miles in every direction. Alice and he had enjoyed exploring it together at the start, but after a while, the sameness began to be too much. Alice tired sooner than he did. Quentin couldn't blame her. Once you'd seen part of his land, you'd probably seen about ninety percent of what the landscape had to offer.

It was entirely uneven throughout, like a swelling ocean had been frozen mid-swell, turned into solid ground, and covered with hybrid plant life that looked _almost_ like they could have been part of some twee English-based cusp-of-a-war fantasy novel, except all the trees looked a little too orderly to pass on Earth. The forest had been a nice touch but was disturbingly symmetrical. They hadn't yet found an ocean, although they trailed a few rivers to discover several sparkling springs. The rainbow hovered wherever they were in the land, remaining permanently in its place, low, just over the horizon. Alice said she was fairly certain why it persisted, but refused to share the solution with Quentin.

The flora might be dull, but the fauna were more interesting; not all of them were even from Fillory, as far as they could tell. That sustained Alice's interest for a few more weeks, but even that wasn't enough to nourish her lively brain. They'd been sadly trooping their way back to a fountain they were pretty sure could take Alice to the Neitherlands Library (she wanted to bother Penny about some research on Arcane magic) when Quentin's invisibility threw a wrench in that plan.

Quentin hadn't _decided_ to put fountains in his land, but they appeared anyway, dotted around like some constellation too large for him to figure out; his heart hurt when he thought about how much Benedict Fenwick would have enjoyed mapping it out. He understood now why the magical schools on Earth built around them. You couldn't move them. They just _were,_ as inevitable as other natural forces like gravity, or hurricanes, or Quentin's inability to get things right on the first attempt.

Quentin tentatively voiced that they could explore the fountains in the Neitherlands, all the lands and not just Quentin's, but Alice just looked at him, her eyes bluer every day, and Quentin sagged in acceptance of the truth. The half-formed daydreams and ideas he'd had about her would forever remain unrealized. He'd brought Alice back, but like he'd changed over the last seven years, so had she. They were both brand new people, and those people were friends, _good_ friends, have-your-back-when-the-shit-hits friends, but that was it.

It was good. _They_ were good. Quentin was going to miss her when she did leave his side. And it couldn't have been _all_ bad for Alice, because she didn't insist on him conjuring up a door to get them immediately back to Earth. She seemed to like the idea of hiking to the Library fountain. And it was _Alice,_ if she didn't like the plan, she wouldn't have gone along with it. At least, new, still-slightly-niffin Alice wouldn't, which was the most important part.

"So?" Alice prompted. "What do you think?"

Quentin turned his attention back to her. Alice's expression was a patient one. He thought about it.

The plan had always been that if they fucked things up they would go crawling back to Eliot, but the more Quentin rolled that idea over in his head, the more he hated it. It made him feel exactly like those first few months at Brakebills, when he and Eliot had been so close, and then the first semester started and Eliot immediately melted away, to be with his friends, the cool kids. Quentin had felt both discarded and unworthy. Inferior. Not good enough to be seen with him.

Quentin wasn't keen to feel that way again, and trudging back to Eliot only because he had a problem threatened to trigger that feeling of inadequacy again. The list wasn't awesome: he was in his thirties and still unemployed; he was due to be abandoned soon by his ex-girlfriend; and to add to all that he was very invisible for who-knew-how-long.

Then again, he'd not only fixed the fantasy land that had saved his childhood, but he'd also made an entire new land under his own steam, _and_ saved Alice from a state no one had ever been saved from before. He'd been a King, a _magician_ King, a teacher, a mentor, and even briefly a very interesting criminal. Surely he had a healthy number of experiences by now to shore up a solid defence against that feeling of inadequacy?

"All right," Quentin sighed. "Let's go crawling back to Eliot. But let's walk to Whitespire, if the Cozy Horse doesn't show up again. The invisibility might wear off on the way."

Alice shot an amused glance at him. "They _were_ very small baby Questing Beasts."

"Exactly!"

It wasn't obvious whether Alice knew or not that his motivations for walking were desperately transparent. It wasn't even to steal extra time with Alice: he was pleasantly resigned to her leaving, although he'd be happier about it if other people than her could see or hear him. He could technically write notes to people, he supposed, if push came to shove. Not that he'd thought to include stationery when he was making his land.

No, it was mostly because he wanted enough opportunity to talk himself _out_ of the plan, because the idea of seeing Eliot again… it was already making him feel oddly queasy.

* * *

Quentin's land didn't have that many noticeable physical features, but it had enough. There were some curiosities: a folly shaped like the gaping maw of a hungry dragon; a display of egg-shaped rocks that formed a mind-melting moiré pattern from most angles, but spelled SNAFU if you found the right vantage point; an ornamental stone pyramid that led you down into an underground labyrinth that changed its route every three days. On every eighth reset, the maze would conjure up a minotaur to chase you; the discovery of this was the kind of adrenaline rush that Quentin was starting to notice he was getting too old for. His aching back certainly agreed with that assessment and his wooden knee had inconsiderately started to sting too, whenever he got it damp. He was starting to understand why Alice had been so against possessing a physical body.

Alice's favorite was a deep chasm that hid a lush and grassy valley filled with rainbow-petaled flowers. You could cross over the chasm by hopping across towering stone pillars that resembled fat leather-bound books standing on their edge. Or, if you weren't a fan of vertiginous drops, each side of the chasm had a long spiral staircase carved directly into the black crystalline rocks that made up the walls. There was even a little castle at the end of that valley which was an exact copy of the Fillorian castle in the boondocks that Quentin had once tried to give to Bingle as his tournament prize; Alice theorized it could be the exact same one, the price that Bingle paid for his magical sword, to have his prize whisked away to a place he could never visit himself.

The Fountain for the Library was an hour away from those book-shaped stepping stones, and that was where they were headed when the portal appeared.

It shimmered in the air barely ten feet ahead of them—a really neat piece of magic, a perfect circle that hovered between two uneven lumps of grass—and Quentin knew immediately from its appearance that he had lost all chance of talking himself out of visiting Eliot. The image inside the sparkling white lines shifted from the ever-present low hanging rainbow, and the spiral clouds, and symmetrical trees, into a _much_ more familiar sight: a sharp-featured young woman, with long brown hair and a girl-next-door prettiness.

"Hello, Plum," Quentin said.

Plum stepped through to Quentin's land carefully, making sure not to get her toes severed by the sizzling portal lines, and she offered a smile directly at Alice. Which Quentin was ruffled by, until Plum said, "hello, Alice," and Quentin at both remembered and felt incredibly stupid.

He was invisible and inaudible to everyone but Alice.

Of course.

Alice smiled at Plum, a perfectly nice and polite smile. She was technically still their landlord, kind of; Quentin and Alice did often return to the townhouse, if only to stock up on supplies and caffeine.

"I was aiming for Quentin. I guess I fucked up some of the numbers," Plum sighed. "You're much closer to Fillory than I expected. Perhaps that's it."

"Perhaps," Alice allowed. "We were just on our way to Whitespire, actually."

"Bluespire," Plum corrected, "at the moment, anyway. There's a very _Sleeping Beauty_ disagreement happening between Queen Janet and Queen Poppy. Uh, but you said _we_?"

"Quentin and I."

"Oh. Well, I needed to speak to him too, so—"

"He's right here," Alice interrupted, thumbing in Quentin's direction.

Quentin helpfully waved, although he did glance at his own hand when he was done, as if to ask it what it thought it was doing.

Plum followed Alice's gaze to where, presumably, she saw nothing but landscape. "Uh," she said, "did he fall behind? Are we waiting here for him?"

"He's invisible."

"Oh," Plum said, in a tone that made Quentin realize his once-protege thought Alice was the one who wasn't entirely there, "do you have a timeline on when he's going to _stop_ being invisible? It's important."

Alice shot Quentin an inscrutable look.

Quentin nodded his head at Plum. "Tell her we once spent two hours bickering over whether we'd written a formula for obsolete thaumaturgical transformations in Goldenrod or Dandelion."

Alice did. Plum startled.

"Oh," Plum said, again, with less disbelief in it. "Hi Quentin." She made a valiant effort to look in his direction, and Alice was too kind to tell her that she was off by a good ten degrees. Quentin side-stepped so it felt less awkward. Plum turned her gaze back to Alice. "What happened?"

"He ran afoul of one of the Questing Beasts," Alice said.

"Well, good. Not that he pissed off something magical that messed with him. But it's good that he's here. And it's good you're here, I was worried I'd have to go off to who knows where to find you too."

Quentin tensed. Plum was wringing her hands, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He'd worked with her for long enough that he knew her signs of agitation. Something big was going down. Something probably terrible.

"Why would you be looking for me?" Alice asked, her voice sharper. Whenever Alice was having a hard time adjusting back to humanity, she blamed Quentin. Not explicitly, but it was still present: in the quick jerks of her movements; the sighs at the agonies that sometimes came with possessing a physical form; the muted passive-aggression between her words. And a smaller portion still of that blame went Plum's way, because she helped Quentin do it.

For a moment, Quentin thought Plum was going to wuss out and try and lead them through back through to Fillory without saying anything. The white light crackling around the edges of the portal framed a landscape that was achingly familiar to Quentin: tall conifer-like trees that in Fillory weren't evergreen, and shed their flexible pine clusters every six weeks like clockwork. The Wormwood. Despite his assertion that Fillory was part of his past, not his future, Quentin felt a pang on seeing it, his throat dry. He'd been telling himself so much that he didn't need it, he'd forgotten there was still the potential to _want_ it _._

Then Plum squared her shoulders and Quentin felt cold. That was Plum's serious okay-I'm-about-to-do-something-epic-and-I'm-not-sure-I-can-handle-it-but-I'm-gonna-try pose. Quentin had seen it several times. This was bigger than a whale transformation, or creating a new land, or facing down a terrifying mirror house with an even scarier inhabitant.

But it wasn't anything like that. It was just three words. There were so many ways three simple words could be rearranged into so many powerful combinations. Like the _sure, yeah, okay_ that led him into his Brakebills exam. _Magic is real. Your father's dead._

Plum's three words were no less world-changing as she made direct eye-contact with Alice and said, "Eliot found Charlie."

* * *

Quentin should be used to life sending him off careening at unexpected trajectories, but he supposed it was the sort of thing maybe you couldn't adjust for, when there were just so many varieties of curveball that could take you out of the game.

This particular bombshell had three familiar ingredients that he'd handled before: Fillory, Eliot, and a niffin. But the three of them in combination sent Quentin's body into overdrive. He felt jittery, like magic was flooding his veins, not blood. He was too keyed up to mourn the fact he'd lost the chance to talk himself out of having to beg Eliot for help.

Besides, it sounded like Eliot needed him first. That was a very cheering thought, actually. Quentin had started to realize that _the feeling of being needed_ was an ingredient of happiness he'd never originally thought to add to the recipe. He was keen to revisit that feeling as often as possible.

Alice was only briefly stunned by Plum's three words, but once they sank in, she became alert and tense in a way Quentin had only briefly seen in her once, when they were hurtling across Fillory's crumbling environment, on their way to fight a god. Purpose. She had a purpose. The one thing Quentin hadn't been able to give her, no matter how much he'd tried.

"Let's go," Alice demanded, gesturing at the portal impatiently.

"Follow me," Plum said, and swivelled on her heel, carefully climbing back through the portal the way she came, making sure to lift her feet high enough not to graze the scorching base line of the magical opening.

Alice didn't even look to see if Quentin was following. Quentin couldn't blame her. As he stepped into the portal, hurrying close behind her so he wouldn't be left behind, Quentin couldn't help but look back. He caught a final glimpse of the tiny phosophorescent wildflowers that punctuated the rolling grass of his land, and of the three stray marble-like cotton-candy colored moons in the sky, and then the portal shimmered and was gone.

When he turned to face Fillory, there was a familiar face looking in their direction, a round and smiling one.

"Ah, you found Alice, good job, Plum," Josh crowed, from where he was sitting on top of the large sandstone boulder that indicated the beginning of the Wormwood. Since Quentin's reign had ended (or maybe while it was still ongoing: he'd been King for a while after leaving from the Twin Harbors for his revenue quest to the Outer Island), someone had painted a fairly insulting representation of the dragon that lived in the grove beyond the trees. Quentin supposed that explained why several of the Wormwood's faux-conifers looked a bit scorched; that dragon had always been good at holding a grudge.

Josh hopped down from the boulder in one easy jump, swinging his arms as he wandered over to meet them. King Josh, Quentin mentally amended, with only the faintest touch of irritation.

"No Quentin?" Josh asked, looking between Plum and Alice appraisingly. Did Josh have to sound so happy about that?

Alice didn't even spare Josh a glance. Her attention was all focused on Plum, who was busy dusting the knees of her jeans off with her palms. "You. Explain."

Josh's round face furrowed. "Hi Josh? It's nice to see you? How are you? How's your new baby?" He trailed off when Alice glared at him, and he held up his hands, conceding that this wasn't the time for his brand of flippancy.

"It was last week," Plum said. "Corian—he's the self-declared mayor now of the talking bears—has been causing trouble again, crossing the Slosh, messing with the hunters from the Brass City. The archers guild sent a delegation to the castle to complain, and the High King himself went to intervene. He's been venturing out a lot more, recently; taking any excuse to get out of the hearing range of Prince George, _I_ think."

Prince George? Quentin thought about that. He hadn't realized Poppy had given birth, but babies didn't hang around in the womb forever, he supposed. _George Hoberman,_ though? Poor kid. Didn't Saint George go around killing dragons? He wondered how Josh swayed Poppy on that naming choice.

"He's not that noisy," Josh protested. "Janet's louder."

"Once the High King had sorted everything out," Plum said, glaring at Josh for the interruption, "we kept hearing reports of a ghost out in the Great Bramble. _I_ said not to intervene."

"The last ghost she encountered was you and she got kicked out of Brakebills for it," Quentin offered. "I can see why she'd advise not to investigate it."

"But," Plum continued, as if Quentin hadn't spoken, because from her perspective, he _hadn't, "_ Eliot decided that Quentin would look, so _he_ should look, and honestly, I couldn't tell him he was wrong. Only that it was stupid."

"Quentin excels at that," Alice said.

"Hey," Quentin said, wounded.

Alice's face remained trained on Plum. She was acting like Quentin hadn't spoken, even though from her perspective he _had._

"And the ghost," Alice said, urgency making every syllable sharp, every sound fully pronounced. "It's Charlie? You're sure?"

"We're positive," Josh said. "At least, Eliot is. He might be melodramatic on occasion, but he's rarely wrong."

Alice's face looked like it was having some sort of epic feature-versus-feature war. Like she didn't know whether to scream or cry or smile or shout, and her face was trying to do all of them at once.

"Why didn't you fucking portal me in closer?" Alice demanded, her eyes flashing blue. Bright blue. The piece of niffin that Quentin had left in her had been getting stronger. "And sooner?"

Plum and Josh took a step back in what would be comedic unison, if they weren't so obviously scared.

"Vix," Quentin said, low, warningly.

Alice threw Quentin an exasperated look, but the blue dimmed, and she turned her wet, desperate, human gaze to Plum. "Please. Help me understand."

Plum and Josh exchanged a glance. They were hiding something. Quentin opened his mouth to try and convince them to just spit it out, but they couldn't see or hear him, and he turned around in frustration. With the Wormwood ahead of them, Quentin had been expecting Whitespire at their back.

He wasn't expecting the sight he saw. His breath caught at it and he could see why Plum positioned the portal here, so they would be facing the greens of the Wormwood on entry. Because seeing Whitespire directly would have been too much of a visceral shock.

Plum had said it was _Bluespire_ now, and for a fraction of a second he hadn't been able to quite see why the name of the castle needed to change from _Whitespire_ , because it seemed to still be very white. But then he saw a row of blue cornerstones, and a hint of navy underlining to some of the ramparts.

The castle itself might currently be blue, but it still looked white. Because it was _frozen_. The whole castle was thickly painted in an opaque ice that blindingly reflected Fillory's golden-honey sunlight, turning the whole castle into a shimmering, giant jewel.

For a moment Quentin thought the portal had skewed the prescription of his glasses, weakening them somehow, but they were fine; he was tearing up because of regular human emotions, that pesky thing. Even though this version of the castle had none of the clever dwarf clockwork—as far as anyone knew, the dwarves hadn't returned from their last-minute rocket escape to the stars—it had been rebuilt in the image of its predecessor, and Quentin was verklempt. Even iced over, it made Quentin ache fiercely.

There was a word that accompanied that sensation, and Quentin forced himself to swallow it down, shove it in the back of his brain like any other unwanted thought or unpleasant visual. It would resurface later, but right now, Quentin had something more important to think about: what the hell was happening to the Castle? And what did this all have to do with Charlie Quinn? And how was Eliot involved?

Right now, he'd be yelling at Plum for answers. But she couldn't hear him. That somewhat dampened his enthusiasm for shouting.

"Eliot went into the grove every day for a week to talk to the ghost, but when Charlie refused to speak to him, he gave up and came back to the castle," Plum said. "I've been an advisor, see. A sort of intermediary between my Great-Aunt and the throne. And so I returned to the castle with Eliot, and we thought that was that. There was an idea about a minor royal proclamation asking Fillorians to avoid the grove—but _you_ know how some of the mice are, that'll just make them more eager to go in—but then it didn't matter."

"Oh. Charlie came to the castle," Alice said. Quentin looked at her in surprise. "I can see—echoes. Trails, I guess. Niffin-light. Vapors. Leading down to the residential wing."

"We should get down there," Josh said. By the time Plum had nodded her agreement, Alice had already taken off in the direction of the frozen castle, and even with his long legs, Quentin ended up having to jog a little to catch up with the three of them.

Maybe Quentin's cognitive processing skills had been affected by the whole invisibility thing, the magic gumming up some of the connections. Or maybe his brain was slow because he hadn't done anything remotely interesting with it since constructing his land, beyond some vague thoughts about how he _should_ be planning to do something with his magic. Planning to make a plan counted as productivity, right? Quentin was starting to feel like all that enthusiasm he'd mustered after saving Fillory had petered out. He'd had such good intentions. They couldn't have all been adrenaline.

The point, which Quentin seemed to be doing his best to avoid thinking about, was that this whole scenario was bad. It had some terrible implications. Niffins weren't bound by human limitations, of ethics or power. They could kill as easily as breathing. The brief amount of lore that did exist on niffins was limited, but most magical academics agreed that niffins lost all ability to care alongside their physical existence. But Quentin had his own theories about that. Alice, when she was a niffin, hadn't killed Quentin, even when she had unlimited opportunity to. Surely that meant the person didn't completely disappear? So maybe Charlie the niffin wasn't that dangerous.

But on the other hand, Quentin didn't know Charlie. Maybe Charlie was the murderous sort. Although he had burned up into a niffin over a crush on a girl, so maybe Charlie was more like Quentin than he wanted to think about. Would Quentin have risked becoming a niffin for Julia, way back when? Probably.

And the Quinns in general didn't exactly have it the most together. Quentin, now he wasn't dazzled by the blinders of his youth, realized Alice counted too in that observation. She had no idea how to put things away, or keep a tidy campsite. She was, to put it kindly, a total slob. If all the living Quinns were fucked up, Charlie was probably fucked up too, and— Plum hadn't mentioned Eliot much. Eliot was the High King, so Quentin could see why Eliot might not have come himself to fetch them, but there was no good reason why Eliot wouldn't be here to meet Quentin; _he_ didn't know Quentin had gone and gotten himself rendered invisible. Eliot wasn't here, and Charlie _was_ , somewhere, and people didn't mind front-loading their words with the truth when the truth was good; Plum holding out for so long could only mean one thing: that Eliot was in real trouble. Or was he dead? Oh god, was Eliot dead?

"Is Eliot okay?" Quentin demanded, hotly.

Plum and Josh had an excuse not to hear him. Alice didn't.

Alice was speeding ahead. She must have been using magic to enhance her stamina and speed; Plum kept up, but Josh was wheezing already, his face red.

"You go ahead," Josh yelped. "I'll catch you up."

Quentin barely spared Josh a glance as he passed him. There were bigger things afoot.

"How long ago did it happen?" Alice asked, inexplicably. Plum shot her a look and Alice shook her head impatiently. "Roughly."

"A couple of days ago."

"A couple of _days,_ " Alice repeated. "Oh. Janet."

"Yeah," Plum said.

"And as far as you know, Charlie's okay," Alice said, her voice hot and urgent.

Quentin stared at her in confusion. Charlie was a niffin. What even _could_ happen to him? He wasn't the one at risk in this scenario.

"Alice," Quentin hissed, "ask Plum if Eliot is okay. Ask Plum if Eliot is okay. _Ask Plum if Eliot is okay._ "

Alice tossed her stick-straight hair irritatedly. "Q, shut up, I'm trying to—oh for the love of science. Plum, Quentin would like to know if Eliot's okay." She spoke Eliot's name sharply, like each syllable was a shard of glass.

Plum pursed her lips and made a surreptitious gesture with one hand; she was definitely having to use magic to keep up with Alice's determined stride. " _That's_ what he's focusing on here? Not the big frozen castle or the niffin?"

"It's the niffin that's caused the worry," Quentin muttered mulishly.

"That's Quentin for you," Alice sighed. "Charlie?"

"As far as we can tell, contained," Plum said. "And Eliot's fine. He's—it's fine. For now."

For now? _For now?_ What the hell did _that_ mean?

"That's to be expected, I guess," Alice muttered. "I'm glad he's fine. That bodes well for my brother. Maybe Quentin can _stop spluttering about it._ "

Quentin, who hadn't realized he was spluttering, shoved his mouth shut and glared at Alice. She wasn't looking in his direction at all, so it was totally wasted, but it made him feel a bit better. Even if he was completely lost about what was going on.

"Quentin and Eliot—Are those two," Plum started, and briefly hesitated, making a gesture which _wasn't_ designed to enhance her speed. " _Y'know_. Because I thought I got a vibe when they hugged, but then, well, you and he banged not soon after that, relatively, so—"

Quentin stared at the back of Plum's head in confusion as the three of them hurried towards the castle. He was fairly sure that Plum's gesture meant something lewd. At least, it did when _he_ was at Brakebills. Could the meaning of it have changed since he and Alice were students there? He frowned over what _else_ the gesture could mean as he stomped along behind the two women.

"Yes," Alice said. "I think so."

"I thought so. I wasn't sure. I'm glad I didn't get that vibe wrong. I should have asked at the time, I guess, but—eh, it's kind of gross to think about your teacher having a sex life."

Quentin blinked rapidly. _What_ were they talking about?

"I don't think it would have mattered if you had asked him," Alice said. "Quentin never notices whenever anyone has a crush on him. It's kind of irritating, to be honest."

Quentin decided it definitely needed to be spoken out loud, even if only Alice could hear him. "What are you two even talking about?"

"I believe it," Plum said.

"Quentin is both spookily smart, and _incredibly_ stupid," Alice sighed. "You might have noticed."

"Yes, I definitely noticed that," Plum shared a conspiratorial smile with Alice.

Oh. _Oh._ They were just teasing him. That explained what was going on. Because he couldn't really get back at them yet. Nice. Really nice.

"Intelligently, magically, Quentin's the kind of magician I want to be when I grow up," Plum continued. "But as a person—hmm. I think I'll stick with my own brain, even if it does mean a lifetime of medication."

"I'm sure you both think you're hilarious," Quentin said, "and I hope you realize when everyone can hear me again, I'm sharing _every_ single one of your embarrassing stories, Vix."

"I don't _have_ any embarrassing stories, Coldwater," Alice said, not even looking at him.

"Oh, gosh, I keep forgetting he's here," Plum said, and she shot an apologetic grimace over her shoulder. In the wrong direction, Quentin triumphantly noticed. "Sorry, Quentin. Only for forgetting. Not for saying that I hope I don't grow up with your level of emotional awareness."

Quentin rubbed his nose and resisted the urge to smash his face into his hands.

"Or lack thereof," Alice said, obviously enjoying herself way too much.

" _Exactly_ ," Plum said.

"You both suck," Quentin said. " _Immensely._ "

Plum glanced at Alice. "Is he saying anything?"

Alice shot a contemplative look back at Quentin, who threw his most aggrieved expression at her. She turned placidly back to face Plum. "Only that he agrees completely."

"You can go off people, you know," Quentin huffed. The sound of their walking was starting to turn crunchy; the grass beneath their feet was frozen too. "Are you not gonna ask her what's happened?"

"I don't need to ask," Alice said. "Charlie's trail leads to the Castle. The trail doesn't lead back out. At least one inhabitant of the castle is still alive. There's only one possible conclusion."

"That you two have both completely and utterly lost your minds?" Quentin offered. That made more sense than anything that had happened in the last few minutes.

"We've been covering Janet but she's refusing to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time," Plum said. "You know what she's like."

"Of course," Alice replied, nodding seriously.

Quentin glared at them, but they weren't making all that much sense. Perhaps he was missing something obvious. It wouldn't be the first time.

As they drew closer to the castle, the ice was more prominent, but it was clearer that it wasn't an even frosting—it was radiating outwards from the center of the castle, where Whitespire's throne room used to be. It seemed like the castle had retained most of its old features. So much for having blank space to create something new. Then again, Quentin supposed, a godless world was probably a terrifying-enough change for the Fillorians; the consistency of the castle being mostly the same probably helped Eliot and Janet rule more efficiently.

God. _Eliot._ Quentin couldn't believe he'd been so reluctant to come see him, just a few minutes ago. Not now it felt urgent that he see him, right this second. That urgency didn't even feel as new and sharp as it should. The impulse was inside of him, like a second heart, beating away in his chest. The idea that something terrible had happened to Eliot gnawed at him like the same cold thoughts that used to whisper at him constantly as a teen. _Useless. Waste of space. You don't belong here and everyone knows it._

His head jammed with those thoughts, Quentin found himself hurrying behind Alice and Plum, jogging under his own speed instead of casting a spell to keep up with them. He felt like he needed just to _feel_ something. So much of him was lost, in some form. He hadn't realized how disconnected it would feel, to be actually invisible and unheard. He felt useless in a way that was making a lot of old sensations resurface.

Alice and Plum pushed straight into the castle, crunching across the inner frost-covered courtyard towards two large, ornate double doors that were painted blue and banded with elaborately curved black iron. It reminded Quentin for a moment of the door to the terrible mirrored house he and Plum had made together in their first distorted attempt at the land spell. That impression didn't go away when the doors opened—Alice gesturing them open in her impatience to get inside—and he saw the inside of the throne room.

It was larger than the old one used to be. And if the decoration was different, or grander, Quentin wouldn't know—ice crystals spread out over the walls, ceiling, and floor, covering whatever was below, increasing in opacity the closer they got to the dais. As Alice hurried them over the floor—Quentin had to cast a small piece of magic to increase the traction on his shoes so he didn't trip on the ice—Quentin regarded the ice carefully. It was deployed in an intricate pattern that looked like fine lacework on first impression, but when he looked closer, he was able to recognize parts of it. Sigils. Spell frameworks. Pleas in Ancient Sumerian to _hold strong,_ requests in German and Spanish to _hold firm,_ and one single word repeated, over and over again, in a variety of languages: stasis.

Stasis? The word distracted Quentin, so much that the figure sitting ahead of him on one of the four thrones didn't really register with him at first. It took Quentin a moment to realize that the woman sitting there with her head bowed was Janet.

Jesus. She looked _exhausted._ He'd never seen her look so defeated before, and he'd seen her at her most-despairing, when she thought Fillory was lost and gone forever.

Janet fully lifted her head and nodded when she saw Alice and Plum crossing the frozen floor. Janet's eyes were hooded. It made her entire face look like it had been painted by shadows. The origin of the ice suddenly made sense: Janet's Discipline was cryomancy. Quentin had almost forgotten that.

Whatever magic Janet was doing on the castle was costing her, immensely. And no one was stopping her, when it was obviously draining her so much? Quentin wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, sad he wasn't invisible to the cold too.

"You found Alice," Janet said. Her voice was hoarse and echoed around the icy chamber. "That was quick."

"She was nearby." Plum sounded chipper. Like Janet's appearance wasn't a shock to her. Janet was obviously the one freezing the castle; why were they just letting her? Then again, it wasn't like _stopping_ Janet was ever an easy thing to do. "I just wanted to let you know we were back."

"No Quentin?" Janet made an almost approving sound. "Well, he'd probably just get in the way anyway."

"He's right beside me," Alice said. "Ran afoul of a Questing Beast. I can see and hear him, but no one else can."

"Oh. Well. I suppose that's an upgrade. Must be all his nerdy-ass dreams come true. Mazel tov, Coldwater."

Janet didn't seem at all happy to see (well, _not_ see) Quentin, which Quentin had to admit stung a little. While he and Janet had never been as close, they'd still been very good friends, once upon a time. Had her magic leaked into words, to make her sound so cold?

"Where is he?" Alice said.

Janet wearily lifted an arm and pointed off to a side chamber, and bowed her head again, focusing on her hands in her laps, twitching in a way that Quentin realized was the slowest spellcasting he'd ever seen in his life. His gut felt tight and hard. How long had Janet been sitting on that throne, spilling out her power in this way? _Why_ was she doing it?

The ice was thicker in the direction she was pointing, and Quentin suddenly had to know. Alice had obviously already figured it out, but Quentin was a Physical magician for a reason. Sometimes discovering something first-hand for yourself _was_ the quickest way.

Plum got to the door first. She paused to pull her hands into the sleeves of her tunic and opened the door, and Quentin's breath caught in his throat.

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh god.

Quentin had to take off his glasses, pocketing them carefully as he rubbed at his eyes, because he'd teared up immediately, feeling more stupid than he ever had in his entire life.

Everything made clear, terrible, _horrible_ sense.

Niffin Charlie had come to the castle. Niffin Charlie hadn't left. No one was dead.

There really was only one solution to this mystery, Alice was right.

"Eliot," Quentin said. He didn't think he'd ever said Eliot's name in such a wrecked way, but there was no other way to say it because _Eliot._

Eliot was kneeling on the floor, head tucked into his hands, covered in what looked like a fragile cage constructed from delicate icy fractals. He was wearing his usual Fillorian finery, but the back of his tunic was ripped out, raggedly framing his cacodemon tattoo, which was glowing—an angry, throbbing blue.

Quentin's heart hurt.

Eliot had copied what he'd done with Alice.

Eliot had taken Charlie into his cacodemon trap.

Janet's spell was bracketing Eliot in protectively, and now Quentin had the context, the words and sigils made sense. It was a stasis spell, designed to protect Eliot, to help hold Charlie in a demon trap not designed to hold something as powerful as a niffin. All Janet's magic could do was buy them time, and time was what they had needed, time enough to find Alice and Quentin. And it needed to be them. Not because they were friends. But because they were the only magicians any of them knew of who'd done this exact thing.

Except Quentin had been able to do the magic immediately afterwards, to construct Alice a new body. Without him here, without the knowledge of how to do that, Janet had improvised a solution.

Quentin found himself walking towards Eliot automatically, staring at Eliot's folded-over body. Eliot's crown was lying next to him, abandoned. Eliot's eyes were screwed shut; Quentin invisible to him twice over.

"Can you do it?" Plum asked, worry thinning her question to a whisper. "Can you get Charlie out safely, like Quentin did with you?"

"I think so," Alice said.

Quentin crouched down next to Eliot, his worry feeling too big for his body to hold. That's how it had felt, when he had Alice in his back. Like he'd tried to stuff the whole galaxy in the space designed for a single planet. Ice crystals lined every one of Eliot's handsome features, the spiky snowflake-like forms sparkling in the bars of sunlight illuminating the room through the lancet windows banding its longest wall.

Eliot's face was almost relaxed. If Quentin squinted, he could almost pretend Eliot was asleep.

"Quentin, no, we need him to stay frozen until we're ready," Alice said, and Quentin froze where he was—oh that was the wrong word, _metaphorical_ freezing, none of Janet's magical ice—with his hand stretched out, like he was going to cup Eliot's cheek. There was already the faint shape of a handprint melting into Eliot's face.

"That's so _weird,_ " Plum said, staring at the melted shape in fascination. "I guess Quentin really is here."

"It would be an odd thing for you to make up," Quentin muttered to Alice, wiping his wet palm on his pants as he straightened up and backed away from Eliot. "We don't have any of Mayakovsky's coins left. Do you think he has more?"

"I think he spent decades making the three he gave you," Alice said. "Still, I suppose it could have been an option, if we'd had time. He likes you."

Quentin pulled a face. If that was Mayakovsky liking someone, he didn't want to be the master magician's enemy.

"But I don't think Eliot does have the time, so we can't ask him for help," Alice concluded, regretfully. "It's good Plum found him so fast. If we don't move fast, and soon, Charlie will kill him." Quentin's chest burned and he stayed silent. He knew she was right, but he didn't want to have to acknowledge it out loud.

"Wait, what are we talking about? Who should we ask for help?" Plum sounded confused now. Quentin was selfishly glad it wasn't just him living in confusion land. Oh god. Quentin was back in _Fillory._ That was going to be hard to remember. He'd discarded Fillory thoroughly. He didn't need it now. That was his life now: going continually forward, never going back.

Going backwards was something Quentin didn't want to do. He'd grown so much since those days. He didn't want to be the naive, awkward, self-involved idiot he'd been in Brakebills, the Quentin who didn't know how good he had it, who didn't know _how_ to appreciate everything he had. He was making good progress to the kind of magician he _wanted_ to be, the kind he could be proud of. Someone who was reliable. Someone who didn't wander around with his head up his own ass.

Quentin took a ragged breath. It wasn't fair to shred his younger self so badly. He'd been doing his best then with what he had. They all had. Quentin hadn't had the capability to realize it at the time, but at Brakebills, they were all fucked up, in different degrees. Eliot, with his constructed affectations. Janet, hurting everyone, only because she was hurting the most. Alice, hollowed out by her narcissistic mother and enabling father and golden child (dead-for-all-intent-and-purposes) brother. Quentin and his childish naivete and obliviousness. Josh, with his insecurity over his lack of control over his tempestuous, stormy magic, that never did what he wanted _when_ he wanted it to, but when it arrived, it arrived with a _bang_.

All of them had been trying to play their best with inferior hands. It was easy to be cruel in hindsight, when all their deficits were clearer. It was difficult to be kind, but that's what those reckless, lost teenagers had needed the most, and so rarely received. All of them could have done better with some kindness. Eliot could have grown even more quickly into the role he suited so well here in Fillory, he was such a natural leader. Janet's heart might not have been walled away so thoroughly. Alice could have blossomed into her talent. Quentin could have seen so much sooner how much he liked to feel _needed;_ he'd be so much further ahead on finding a way to feel like that as much as possible. And it blew Quentin's mind to imagine the heights Josh could have climbed to, if he'd had the ability back then to _control_ the kind of furious, wild magic that could form a black hole above a Welters court...

"Josh," Quentin said, in realization. He turned to Alice, wide-eyed with excitement over figuring it out. "Josh could do it."

"Josh," Alice repeated, her mouth going slack.

"What about Josh?" Plum asked, looking between Eliot and Alice.

"He's older now," Quentin headed across the floor to Alice, purpose making his movements elegant and efficient. "He can control his magic better, right?"

"Even if he can't control that pimped-out black hole spell of his… As long as he can open it, I can close it," Alice said. She folded her arms over her middle and started to pace, her mouth moving a little as she moved. She was already starting to work it out. "Yeah. Let's do it."

"Let's do what?" Plum said.

Alice ignored her to stare at Quentin. "What do we need?"

* * *

Making matter out of magic was old hat for Quentin by now.

It would take some adjustment, to make the spell happen in Fillory, where magic and matter weren't always two distinct things. But Alice was already confidently talking about how to draw enough of Earth from them, to make a temporary ecosystem where Fillory would _behave_ like Earth, and Quentin was relieved that they wouldn't have to spend precious time and energy moving Eliot.

He knew the ingredients and method of the spell by heart. Having Plum around made it speedier too—she'd helped gather many of the components the first time around. They would be repeating what he did last time, to save Alice, and that had some serious pros and cons.

The upside was that they knew the procedure worked. They knew they could take a niffin from a demon trap and contain it in a physical host. The downside was that Quentin had never exactly _perfected_ it. A little bit of niffin essence had been left behind inside of Alice and they still weren't sure how much, or what the long term effects of that would be. Alice had learned to cope with it. Sometimes her eyes flashed blue and her power levels spiked unpredictably, and sometimes she went vague and Quentin could tell she'd mentally disappeared off somewhere, but she never explained where she'd gone when she returned.

They needed Charlie Quinn out of Eliot, as soon as possible, for his sake and for Janet's. An unrestrained niffin was too dangerous to contemplate. They needed to do this, downsides be damned. Quentin had learned that there was always a price to pay with magic and that it was important to calculate whether it was worth it, when you didn't know for sure what that price would eventually be. The costs this time around of _not_ doing the spell was something Quentin couldn't even contemplate.

Quentin snapped out the things they needed, and Alice repeated them to Plum, who didn't need them saying twice. When Plum scurried off, Quentin and Alice started to prepare a space to work. Quentin was invisible and inaudible to everyone but Alice, but he wasn't _useless._ He cleared off a long table while Alice found some paper to roll out on the floor. Then she started to write down some equations and complex calculations, figuring out how to compensate for Janet's stasis spell, and the Fillorian circumstances, and how to maintain the local atmosphere, to borrow Earth's parameters for a limited time.

Quentin found Alice's writing incomprehensible until he remembered he'd taken his glasses off; when he slid them back on, her scribbles made a lot more sense. God, Alice was such a disorganized slob, even on paper. He refrained from telling her that. He could tell from her frantic motions that she was worried. He couldn't blame her, even if her worry was probably all on Charlie's behalf, and Quentin's primary concern was Eliot.

And then they ran into their first problem: Quentin could do a little bit of magic, enough to levitate the table so he could move it closer to Eliot. But his inaudible-to-everyone-but-Alice status meant he couldn't actually _do_ the hardest parts of the spell, because they required things to be spoken out loud, in that intricate old Fillorian language that had taken Quentin _months_ to memorize and assimilate. They needed to be spoken so _anyone_ could hear them, something about the vibrations of the consonants hitting the ripples of power at the right time, so whatever niffin-only frequency Quentin _was_ speaking on, it didn't affect magic in the same way.

Eliot would be suffering. Eliot was in agony, and Quentin was the only person who'd ever done this kind of magic before, as far as they knew. Eliot was in pain and Quentin couldn't help him. Quentin had only himself held Alice for a limited time and it _hurt,_ resonating throughout his whole body. How long had Eliot been holding onto Charlie for? What had Eliot been _thinking?_

"Breathe, Q," Alice said, sharply interrupting the panic washing through Quentin. Quentin's eyes slipped over to where Eliot was hunched over, his curls frozen in place, obscuring his face, like a wave that had risen and forgotten how to fall. He had to concentrate. This was for Eliot. And Alice was feeling the exact same panic right now for Charlie too. Quentin couldn't fall apart now. They needed him. They _needed_ him, and that was the best feeling in the whole world. Quentin could slay a god and mend a world with that kind of knowledge behind him, he could do this.

"Yeah," Quentin said, and straightened his shoulders. "Yeah. I can talk you through it."

Alice nodded, business-like. Beyond anything, Alice had experience following Quentin. This might be the last time she ever would.

Quentin found his gaze turning back to Eliot as he verbally ran through the procedure. He'd managed to burn that page from the Neitherlands book into his mind, perfectly. He could see every dot of ink, every slight crease. Penny was right to be worried about what Quentin could do with it, because the ability to take magic and turn it into matter had epic implications. Especially because Quentin had a suspicion he could reverse the flow, too. But, just like Charlie trying to use his major arcana renaissance spell to try and repair the girl he was infatuated with, Quentin knew he would only ever use the knowledge for good. He'd had a taste of what it felt like to owe a heart-breaking debt; he'd seen the destruction hubris could do. He had no inclination to even flirt with that line. That was probably a good thing—flirting was one skill Quentin would never excel at.

Plum returned with an armful of powders and liquids. Josh had finally caught up to them, and he had several books clutched in his arms. Josh startled when the books started lifting out of his arms like an unseen ghost was claiming them.

"Man, I rule a magical kingdom populated by talking animals, and _that_ is weird," Josh said, his eyes wide as he tracked what from his perspective must have looked like the books were floating through the air by themselves, but more orderly than the ones that used to flutter around Brakebills' library. Quentin tugged the last one from him and prodded Josh in one of his round cheeks with his thumb before dashing out of reach. "Not cool!" Josh yelped and darted out of the way.

"There's a lot of minor mending involved," Quentin warned Alice, ignoring Josh's pantomime of a reaction. "Be prepared for that."

"It might not be my Discipline but I did get better grades than you in PA," Alice murmured, lining up the powders in the order she would need them.

"Coldwater nagging at you, huh?" Josh rubbed his hands on his pants, leaving sweaty trails down the richly-embroidered fabric. Quentin side-eyed him judgmentally, even though he hadn't been much of a classier king himself, to be honest.

Plum measured out the powders while Quentin poured the liquids out into beakers, in the necessary amounts. It was an exhausting spell. Alice would need to draw on all of her own strength while doing it. Quentin had his mouth open ready to suggest she draw a labyrinth, store up as much magic as possible, but Alice crossed her legs and sat down in the corner of the room and started to faintly glow blue. More of that niffin-remnant stuff, Quentin supposed. Just how much of the niffin had he left in her, anyway?

That wasn't the puzzle for today, though, so Quentin took up Alice's discarded pen and wrote the spell procedure out in clear, rounded letters on a neatly numbered list. His hand only trembled a little. If it was anyone but Alice, he'd be despairing by now, because it was _Eliot,_ Quentin needed him to be okay. But it was Alice, for _Charlie,_ and there was no one else in the universe Quentin could trust such an important task to.

He realized only by the time he was nearly done that Plum had drifted closer to watch over his shoulder. She was standing so close that Quentin was surprised that she hadn't walked into him, because he was crouched down in an awkward position, until he realized he'd been kneeling in the ice and there were a few wet Quentin-shaped patches in it from where he'd shuffled along the floor to write.

"Even knowing magic is real, it does sometimes blow my mind," Plum breathed. "I can't even really believe you managed to get whammied by what's essentially one of your own creations."

Quentin tore off a piece of the paper. " _It happens,_ " he wrote.

"To you, maybe."

Quentin glared at her. And then drew a small angry face on the scrap of paper.

"What is that, something else you need me to fetch?" Plum peered closer. "I don't recall the original spell needing a worm."

" _Fuck off,_ " he wrote, in neat block letters.

"Being invisible has done wonders to your mood," Plum said, but she was grinning and he drew her a smily face in response. " _Two_ worms?"

Quentin scribbled the face out as she walked away from him laughing. It was a good thing Quentin had never set his heart on being an artist.

It was difficult to remember what he'd wanted to be, before he realized magic was real. Happy. That was a given. Julia's. That had been a mistake. A fantasy, to keep his heart safe. He'd known from the beginning that Julia would never choose him romantically; he'd worked on himself enough to at least figure out that perhaps that was why she'd _been_ so attractive to him, right from the start.

His parents' love for each other had ended up blinding them to his entire existence, which had made growing up a painful and lonely experience for Quentin. It was no wonder that he had been afraid to love. Love had the potential to make people invisible, and Quentin had been invisible to his parents for his whole life. Perhaps that was why he was adjusting so well now to this period of invisibility.

Julia had been a safety mechanism. He had to have known on some level that she would never be interested in him romantically, so placing his heart in her direction protected him from attaching it to people who genuinely had a chance at getting through to him. God, it had been so unfair to her, though. He'd say sorry to Julia, if he thought she would listen to him, but he hadn't seen her since Fillory nearly ended, and he doubted she was bothered now with such small human things like apologies.

Alice, though, he had let her in, even though he hadn't realized it enough at the time to appreciate it. She had gotten right to his heart. And her death had ripped it clean in two. Well, it had been nice proof that he actually had a heart, he supposed. He needed to think seriously about opening his heart again. He had, actually and properly, fallen in love once. Surely that was the whole lesson he was learning today, that doing the same thing twice wasn't impossible?

He thought briefly about his land—both the first try and the second, stable one—and he smiled to himself. Sometimes when you did the same thing twice, the second attempt came out _better._

Eliot was going to be fine. He had to be. He _had_ to be. Because if he wasn't—

Quentin couldn't even finish out the thought. It was impossible to comprehend a universe without Eliot in it.

"Time to start," Alice said, and Quentin startled. He'd been staring at Eliot in his fragile, icy cage for longer than he'd realized. His head felt muggy, and the air rang with the echo of a far-off whistling noise. Alice's face softened when she looked at him. She was so beautiful, standing there above him. Her eyes were fully blue and there was a confidence in her smile that twisted her expression into one he'd never seen on her in their Brakebills years.

But she wasn't that Alice anymore. And he wasn't that Quentin. He let her help him to his feet and he merely nodded at her in response. Let's go.

"Get Josh and Janet," Alice said. She was looking at Quentin, but it was Plum who responded to that order.

Normally Quentin would make some witty quip at this point in time. Something cheesy or eloquent to kick off proceedings. The air felt pregnant with the thrum of potential. Gravitas felt like a tangible, moldable thing. They were going to do something epic and they were going to _succeed._

Quentin found himself mirroring Alice's confident smile and they beamed at each other giddily for a moment.

"You've fucking got this," Quentin said.

"I really fucking do," Alice said.

They weren't lovers anymore, but that didn't stop them from being dynamite together.

The door opened and it snapped the moment in two; Alice became brisk and professional, stepping away from Quentin and toward the spell, muttering under her breath in satisfaction at it before she approached Janet, chin tilted arrogantly. Janet was a Queen but this room was Alice's domain right now, and she wasn't going to relinquish that position to anyone.

There was a brief second when fire flashed across Janet's face, because Janet Pluchinsky didn't bend to _anyone,_ but Janet's gaze caught on Eliot's prone body, and the fire almost instantly disappeared. She inclined her head, just the smallest amount, but it was enough—she was acceding this moment to Alice.

"We need you to let your stasis spell go," Alice said.

"No shit, buttercup." Janet stared sourly at Alice for a beat before she straightened her shoulders. Her heavily-brocaded dress hung limply from them, revealing more collarbone than usual. Keeping Eliot in stasis had taken a serious toll on her. Her sourness slipped away and her jaw tensed, business-mode High Queen Janet making an appearance. "All right. Before I do that, where is he? Point me at him so I can yell."

Quentin narrowed his eyes in confusion. Who was Janet talking about?

"He's there," Alice said, pointing directly at Quentin.

Wait, him? Janet wanted to yell at _him?_ Why?

"You're fucking to blame for all of this, invisible boy, so you better not fuck this up," Janet said, glaring at Quentin. She was staring a couple inches too far to the left, but she had the angle right enough that he withered under her stare regardless. Had the stress of this incident dented everyone's ability to make sense? He'd been nowhere near this incident. How was this _his_ fault?

"Alice is the one doing it," Quentin said, helplessly, "I—"

"And don't give me any of that _Alice is doing the spell_ crap," Janet cut over him.

Quentin's mouth dropped open and he stared at Alice accusingly. "She can hear me?"

"And no, I can't hear you," Janet said, folding her arms over her chest. "You're just that fucking predictable."

Quentin couldn't get himself together quickly enough to close his mouth and not look like a consummate fool, but that was okay. Alice was still the only one who could see him, and she already knew what he was like.

"Do you understand what we'll need?" Alice said, addressing Josh next.

"Plum said I was fundamental to the whole spell working," Josh said, and beamed, spreading his palms into some awkward jazz hands. "Josh Hoberman, saving the day. Could get used to the sound of that, gotta admit."

"Just open the rift, I can take it from there," Alice said.

Quentin smiled at her. He loved it when she took command. Quentin should examine that. It was funny. He thought you were supposed to do the majority of learning at college. No one really ever told you that learning things—about yourself in particular—would be a lifelong process. Or maybe your parents were supposed to tell you. Quentin's never did, but then, they'd never really told him anything.

"Okay," Alice said, and she stared over at Janet. "Wake him up."

* * *

Janet's spell seemed to take an eternity to undo, but considering the amount it had leaked out beyond this room, to swallow up the whole castle, that made sense. Spells were like that. They spilled out beyond your control. But that was because magic was just like an emotion itself: necessary, an inefficient use of energy, _messy_.

Janet let out a short broken noise as Eliot awoke with a hoarse cry. She slumped to the ground, almost unconscious herself. Plum was immediately on her knees, at Janet's side, cushioning her fall with the smoothest Davydov Mattress that Quentin had ever seen. Plum was a singular magician and her magic usually caused everyone in the room to have their eyes on her.

But not today, because even Quentin—always one to be distracted by flashy, confident magic—couldn't draw his eyes from Eliot for long. He didn't even watch as Plum carried a barely-conscious Janet out of the room. All his attention was elsewhere.

Eliot was hunched over, a keening noise coming from his mouth, and his hands were clenched into fists that he beat against the ground.

"It hurts," Eliot whispered. His voice wasn't the smooth, beautiful, bell-rich tone that Quentin was used to. It was broken glass and sawdust. Quentin's heart ached. "It hurts—please— _please._ "

"We'll get him out," Alice said. "Charlie, hold on. Quentin. Josh. Help me."

Alice started work immediately, ordering Quentin and Josh around with an authority that Quentin hadn't heard from her before. Josh looked faintly injurious at being ordered around, until Eliot let out a blood-curdling yell, spasming under Charlie's strength, and Josh fell into line with them, as serious and intent as all of them. Josh even adjusted to one of the party being invisible with grace—he only started once when a book was placed into his hands, opened to the page that Alice would need to reference next. The next time, he barely even blinked. Josh could be unpredictable on occasion, but he always had been a solid and reassuring person to have by your side.

Quentin's gaze kept sliding to Eliot. He hated everything about this. Eliot had always seemed so _vibrant_ to Quentin. Larger than life. Three-dimensional and painted in color in a two-dimensional black-and-white world. Quentin realized with a sinking feeling that he couldn't have done this spell. He _shouldn't._ Back when he'd done, he'd been keen for Alice to be reborn, but he'd been protective of the host too, because it was himself. But in this scenario, Quentin knew all his focus and attention would be on getting Eliot out of this safely. Even now, there was a niffin banishment ritual screaming through the back of Quentin's mind. He would send Charlie off into the stratosphere, if it meant securing Eliot's safety.

Alice would save both of them. He hoped. God, he hoped. If Alice decided to save Charlie, at Eliot's expense—it didn't bear thinking about. Alice wasn't like that, was she? She did hold grudges. And Quentin realized that she didn't even like to use Eliot's name. When he thought back, she'd only said it once, and she'd said _Eliot_ like it hurt her to say it. He felt cold, even though Janet's spell had nearly fully melted away, leaving water streaking down the walls into puddles.

It was too late now. All Quentin could do was wait, and hope, and help. Alice was following Quentin's template. She would follow it exactly if she wanted to give Charlie his best shot.

Some magic was like a marathon and this one was no exception. Sweat stood out on Alice's forehead, one of her least favorite parts of being human. Quentin used his sleeve to wipe it away from her. She didn't stop to acknowledge it, but Quentin didn't expect her to. She was fully immersed in this spell now.

Alice's jaw tensed as she kept working, shouting her orders for the next components, her knees trembling. She was fighting for every inch of her magical strength and skills now. She could do it. Quentin knew she could do it. She was the most capable magician he'd ever known.

"It hurts," Eliot said, in that terrible, cracked, pain-filled voice of his. "Is Quentin—Quentin should be here. He'd know what to do." He let out a sharp cry. "Quentin always know what to do. I never do. I never does, he does—"

"I'm right here," Quentin yelled, holding a book steady for Alice, his gaze drifting to where Eliot was writhing on the floor. His back looked cracked somehow. Was that blood? Eliot had been holding Charlie too long. Much longer than Quentin had held Alice. And Janet had put him in that weird frozen stasis spell. How badly hurt was he? Would Eliot need more magic afterwards? Could Quentin even remember any of the silent spells he'd learned for Healing, back in his accelerated Second Year at Brakebills, when Healing modules had still been mandatory?

"Quentin's here, no worries," Josh called over—good, dependable Josh— Quentin could begrudgingly understand what Poppy saw him in him. "Just hold on, dude. We're getting the blue thing outta ya."

"That blue thing is my brother," Alice spat out, through gritted teeth. Josh winced apologetically. "Kadupul seeds. _Now._ "

Quentin handed over the appropriate bowl and Alice dipped two fingers in, her eyes flitting to the words Quentin had written out phonetically. Quentin spoke them with her—the corner of Alice's mouth fluttered for a moment in gratitude. This was one of the few realms where Quentin and Alice's knowledge didn't overlap. Well. Quentin had a few realms, Alice had so many more. Alice drew the powder along her forehead and dabbed it on her cheeks, her eyes flashing bluer for a second as she fought for another wave of magical inertia to push that part of the spell onwards.

Quentin could feel the enchantment rising around them. It was palpable. He fancied that if he leaned backwards, it might be able to take his weight, floating without the effort of maintaining a decent flying charm. The room sang at a low frequency and the magic pulsed in rhythm with it. Some spells were songs but this one was a fucking symphony _._

"Okay," Alice said, shakily. "You need to let him out now, Eliot." Again, she spoke his name sharply, like knives. Perhaps it was just the strain of the magic talking. " _Eliot._ "

Eliot grimaced, like her name in his mouth caused him physical pain. "I can't. If I let him out—it's bad."

"It'll kill you if you don't." Alice's face was drawn. She hadn't expected him to resist her. Alice wasn't used to being surprised like that. It was clear that she didn't know how to handle it. "I can save you. Both of you."

"Can't." Eliot's hands clawed at the ground. He was clearly in agony. Quentin's eyes hurt. Why didn't he just let Charlie go already? "Gotta—gotta hold on. Quentin's coming."

" _I'm_ here to save you." Alice crossed the floor. Her eyes were so blue that the color was leaking into the white, too. "Why did you do this? Why did you take my brother in?"

Eliot managed to raise his head. He was sweating. His skin was gray. He opened one bloodshot eye. "I wanted Quentin to be proud of me. _He'd_ have done this. And he's always so—he always knows what to do." He looked desperate as he stared at Alice, shaking from the exertion of what was happening to him. "He's always so _brave._ I wanted him to be proud of me, for being brave like him."

" _Eliot_ ," Quentin breathed.

"Unbelievable," Josh muttered.

That was a good word for it.

"I need to catch up with him," Eliot muttered. "I'm just—always trailing behind him. _Lost boy._ " Eliot grinned humorlessly, lopsidedly, even as he convulsed again. A human body was not built to hold a niffin. It was killing him. It was _killing_ him. None of this made sense. At all.

"That's wrong," Quentin said. He felt choked up. "I was the one who used to trail after _him._ "

"Why did you trail behind him?" Alice asked.

"I needed him," Eliot whispered, his eye slipping closed. "More than he ever needed me."

Quentin wasn't sure who she was asking, so he answered too. "I just—I wanted him to like me, I guess. He knew exactly who he was and I—was drawn to that confidence. I was jealous of it."

"He needs you," Alice crouched down and stared at Eliot, intently. "Quentin _needs_ you, Eliot. But you need to let Charlie go. You've done it. You've made Quentin proud."

"So proud," Quentin repeated, firmly. "I'm so proud of you. You're so _brave._ Let him go." His firmness was morphing into desperation. But Eliot couldn't hear him, and it was useless.

Quentin crossed the floor. Janet's magic wasn't protecting Eliot any more, so Quentin could do what he'd wanted to do from the moment he saw him—he crouched down and put his hand on Eliot's cheek, gently, so gently.

"Quentin," Eliot mumbled, and gasped, a terrible thin sound that sounded to Quentin's pounding ears too close to death for his liking. But it worked. Somehow, Quentin's touch was the password, and Eliot stilled.

The room flooded with a familiar blue light, like summer afternoon swimming on a sunny day. Quentin cried out in relief, even as his chest ached for the ugly, blackened lump rising on Eliot's back, an ugly scar to punctuate the star at the center of his demon trap tattoo. Quentin was only barely aware that Charlie's limp blue form was floating listlessly in the center of the room. His attention was more on Eliot, collapsed in a heap on the floor. Quentin hated to have to leave him, but if they didn't constrain Charlie into a physical form, the niffin might recover, and their lack of morality meant this room could turn on a dime from a recovery room to a bloodbath.

Charlie radiated danger. He was beautiful and he was terrible and an explosion ready to happen, if Alice couldn't bottle him up in time.

Alice must be exhausted enough as it was, but she had a way still to go, and she was ready for it. Charlie's blue flames reflected on the angles of her face, making Alice look like a glorious, avenging angel. Except this angel had no sword, and she was here to save him. She held his gaze and triumphantly spoke the ancient activation word. It occurred to Quentin that the word may never have been spoken in Fillory until this exact moment.

"Now," Alice hissed. Her voice was low and grating. "Josh, _now._ "

"Ah, time for the _real_ master to do his thing," Josh crowed, and raised his hands dramatically, his strong hands starting to carve out the gestures that once upon a time nullified a will o' the wisp and rent the sky asunder.

Quentin looked up in anticipation, ready for the roof to seemingly rip open, to turn his eyes on a sight far away. But nothing was happening. The room felt a little colder, but that might have been Charlie. He was starting to vibrate. Gently, but it would increase, if they couldn't do the spell soon.

"C'mon, man," Quentin hissed.

Josh shook his hands out, adjusting his weight from foot to foot like a boxer finding his stance. "Performance anxiety. It's always been my problem."

"We don't have time for it now."

"Man, jeez, pressure, much?" Josh knotted his eyebrows and closed his eyes, making a dramatic gesture before running through the long series of hand movements again. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, frowning. " _Fuck._ Fuck. I can totally do this. I do it all the time now. I've figured my ish out! I have control!"

"Something's blocking him," Alice said. Her small hands moved though a few familiar shapes—a diagnostic spell. "Nothing physical."

"Let me try again," Josh said. "Distract me, maybe? Tell me a story. Where were you guys, when Plum found you?"

"We were walking here," Alice said. "Quentin made a land."

"Ah, when he was a super god." Josh's hand gestures didn't even falter even when he was talking. "I heard about that."

"No, it was after," Alice said.

Josh's hands drew to a full close at that and he stared at Alice, slack-jawed. "He made a land… as a regular, human magician." His mouth did something complicated. It wasn't an attractive expression on him. "Jesus, like I didn't have a wild inferiority complex around him _before._ Making his own fucking _land_? Dude, what the fuck."

Quentin blinked at him in confusion. Inferiority complex? What was Josh talking about?

"Oh, well, _that_ would block someone's power," Alice said. "Boys and your emotions."

"I hope you had a plan B," Josh said, looking warily between niffin Charlie, his own hands, and Alice.

"I don't need one. You're going to do it." Alice tilted her head as Josh spluttered in disbelief. The half-finished spell pressed in on them, making the large room feel like it was shrinking in on them. "You _can't_ still be nursing feelings over Eliot liking Quentin more than you."

Josh was smirking, for some reason. Fake bravado, maybe. "I can't?"

"It's your feelings of inadequacy that are blocking you from doing that spell. Nothing else. And you have nothing to feel inadequate about."

"I don't?" Josh's jocularity faded away to a truly wounded expression. "You don't have any idea how it feels, you've _always_ been good at controlling your magic. You're used to being the best. You don't know what it's like, to be barely hanging on at any given time, to be _scraping_ by. To be tolerated. And then I found somewhere to be. Eliot and Janet _chose me_ , to be their friend, over all the rest of the riff-raff, and it was perfect, and then _he_ came."

Quentin stared at Josh, at the pain in his voice slicing through the thick tension of the unfinished enchantment. Charlie was starting to vibrate harder and Eliot was moaning again, the magic pressing down on him too.

"Quentin," Alice said.

"Yeah," Josh said, and spat out, " _Quentin._ " Josh's eyes were wide, wild. If Quentin thought Alice said _Eliot_ like every syllable of it was made of broken glass, Josh said Quentin's name like it was lava and brimstone, acid and poison.

"Josh," Alice said. In contrast, she spoke his name like the softest kindness.

Quentin continued to stare as Josh shook his head, his round shoulders lowering, deflating. What had Quentin possibly done to make Josh hate him this much? Sure, he'd sort of slept with Josh's wife first, but—Poppy came onto him, hooking up with Poppy on the Muntjac hadn't been Quentin's idea?

"Quentin came. To Brakebills," Josh said, his voice quieter now. Like just saying Quentin's name like that had wiped all the energy out of him. He looked as gray and drawn as Alice did. "He was a better magician than me right from the start, even though he was younger. And all of Eliot's attention was diverted his way and it never came back to me. At first I thought it was because Quentin was gonna become _y'know_ , one of Eliot's boys. And that was fine, Eliot went through a few. Loved them and lost them, and I waited for that to happen, but it never did. But then time went on, and they didn't, and it was clear. They weren't having sex. That wasn't what Eliot was into. It was Quentin's power. _Everyone_ was drawn to it. Eliot. You. Even the staff were starry-eyed. Did you think it was _normal,_ skipping a year like that? Do you have _any idea_ what it was like, to lose your only friend's attention to someone who was just a better magician than you, in every way?"

Quentin stared at Josh in utter bafflement. That was a complete rewrite of history. That hadn't been his experience of Brakebills in any form. People weren't drawn to him. He and Alice formed a team just to _survive._ And Eliot had ignored Quentin for such a long time; he'd ditched Quentin _for_ Josh and Janet, as soon as they appeared on campus! This was revisionist and so wrong. Yet Josh spoke like it was truth. Like this was the only way to view what had happened.

Alice was laughing as she shook her head. Why was she laughing? This was a serious matter. Josh was seriously wrong. And if there was something _that_ wrong with him, then they couldn't do this. They didn't have enough magic for this. Why hadn't they tried to go to Mayakovsky, to demand one of his coins, to have a _back-up?_ Maybe they could have got to him in time. But Alice had been so certain Josh was all they needed. They were _screwed_.

"Josh," Alice said, and she sounded almost delighted. "Oh, Josh. You can't still be nursing feelings over Eliot liking Quentin more than you."

Josh made a scoffing noise. "I can't?"

"Believe me, it was _never_ Quentin's magic that had Eliot's attention," Alice said. "Eliot couldn't care _less_ about Quentin's magic. It was never anything special, especially back then."

"You don't have to be so mean about it," Quentin muttered, even though she was probably right.

Josh narrowed his eyes. "It's nice of you to try and make me feel better before your brother shakes himself free and massacres all of us where we stand, I guess."

" _Josh_." Alice walked over to him and took his hands in her own. She had a calm, gentle smile on her face. "It was _never_ Quentin's magic. Eliot's in love with Quentin. He has been from the very start."

Quentin blinked rapidly. What? Alice couldn't—that couldn't be true. But Alice was wearing her most earnest expression, and honestly, she was a terrible liar. This was something _she_ believed to be true, at the very least. And she'd always been _good_ at deciphering other's emotions. At least, that's what he'd always thought. She always seemed to have everyone's emotional states and complicated relationships efficiently mapped out, where Quentin was usually oblivious to it all.

His chest felt weirdly tight. Eliot was—in love with him? Quentin looked down at Eliot's weak form, and he felt cold and hot, all at once. Eliot was a disheveled mess. Injured, bruised, bloodied. And what a fucking idiot, to hold a niffin, just because he thought Quentin would do it. That _couldn't_ be right.

"So unless you're telling me that _you're_ nursing a crush on Eliot…?" Alice arched a single eyebrow at Josh.

"No. _God_ , no." Josh inhaled a long and stuttering deep breath and looked at Alice with a wet, aware gaze. "Does Quentin know?"

Alice only spared Quentin the briefest of glances. "That Eliot's in love with him? No. Not until now." She paused for a moment. "That Quentin reciprocates it? Also, no."

This, Quentin thought, was possibly what it felt like when you were officially losing your mind. He thought he'd come close a few times before this moment, but he was obviously wrong. He tried to reassure himself that this was some sort of bluff, that Alice was just lying to Josh to get him to calm down and try his magic again, but he found that rationalization rang hollow when he tried to mentally repeat it to himself.

"Let me try again," Josh said, and Quentin swallowed down his panic to watch. However weird the past couple of minutes had been—Quentin's ears were ringing loudly now, aching with the resonance of it all—they'd clearly worked on Josh, because there was a _joy_ in the way he cast the magic this time, and it didn't feel like a surprise when the roof punched open to show a strange star full of skies on the other side of the rift.

"Oh that'll do _nicely_ ," Alice screamed, against the roar of a far off galaxy, or another universe, or wherever this hole in space led to. Quentin wasn't sure any of them—save for Alice—had realized just _how_ close to obliteration they'd been when Josh had cast this magic the first time around, on a Welters court, over a decade ago.

They'd been so young. And Eliot—Eliot had—Quentin couldn't finish that sentence. It was too unreal.

Alice drew Quentin's attention back to the room, because she lifted her arms high in the air, waving like a conductor, both hands making mirrored gestures as she yelled in an ancient tongue to those unfamiliar heavens, and Quentin could feel it when it happened—magic, rushing towards them from that other-space, tons and tons of it. It sparked when it entered the room, a rainbow frenzy of light shards. Many of Alice's spells involved excess light. The glamorous life of a Phosphoromancer, Quentin supposed. She shouted a complicated phrase, triumphantly hollering each syllable, and Josh's black hole closed with a loud snap. It was done. She'd been able to draw down enough magic for the enchantment to be completed. Alice grinned, and spoke the very last word of the spell.

The room around Charlie instantly went dark. Particles began rushing into him, a hailstorm of matter shooting into the heart of his vibrating blue light. He writhed, twirling, as he transformed into dullness, translucent blue shifting to cruder human flesh.

Quentin stumbled over to Eliot, dragging him up, ignoring Eliot's muttering. He could feel Josh at Eliot's other side, lifting at the same time, dragging Eliot with him. Alice backed up so she reached the door with them, and the four of them tumbled through.

Plum was at the other side to help catch them. Janet, listlessly half-awake and barely conscious, was propped up on one of the thrones—she'd made Plum drag it from the dais all the way to the door, so she would be close. Josh and Quentin worked in unison to prop Eliot against her legs, sitting him on the floor. Janet made a soft sob, and buried her hands in the curly mess of Eliot's hair. She pressed a kiss into his scalp and cried hot tears, too exhausted to care who saw her.

Alice's face was alight as she stared into the room, smiling even as Charlie groaned, an agonizing, thick, _human_ sound. He sounded like he might be dying, but Quentin knew that was part of the process. Eliot was fine, that was all Quentin was concerned about. He found he didn't entirely care if Charlie lived or died—he'd got what he wanted out of the enchantment. Eliot's pulse was weak, but it was rhythmical. He was going to be okay.

The blue light faded and Charlie fell. Alice was running in already, crossing the threshold at the same second Charlie hit the wooden floor. It was still wet from the melted ice. Quentin reeled from the smell coming out of the room, noxious gases that made his eyes sting. Inside the room, Alice knelt by Charlie's side, crying. Quentin could see a narrow chest rising and falling. Charlie was flesh again, and alive. After all this years, he was human again. Even though it hadn't been his priority, Quentin found himself smiling for her, happiness flooding his system, echoing her palpable joy over having her brother back.

"Charlie, oh, my Charlie," Alice sobbed, her head bowed over, her thin shoulders shaking.

"What's going on?" Eliot murmured. "Why is it raining?"

Janet rubbed at her face furiously and threw her arms around his neck. "You nearly _died_ , that's what's going on. You _idiot._ "

"Oh," Eliot said. "That sounds like a bad idea. Good on me for not doing that."

"You're an idiot," Quentin said, furiously. "You're an absolute _idiot._ What the fuck were you doing?" Except who was the idiot, the only person that could hear him was Alice, and she was currently occupied, sobbing over her brother. It was right of her to celebrate and be glad. This brother of hers was dead and was now alive again. He was lost, and now was found.

"Alice and I saved you," Josh said.

Eliot's mouth moved for a moment. He looked so pale and gaunt. He should be resting. Why weren't they insisting Eliot go and lie down? "Alice and you," Eliot repeated. "Quentin—I thought—I dreamed Quentin was here."

Quentin stared at him. "I'm right here," he said, and felt stupid. Because he was still invisible. Of course he was.

"Oh, yeah," Josh waved a hand. "He's around here somewhere." Quentin decided to help Josh be more specific. "Ow! Quentin's here, he's right here! Quentin. God. Stop hitting me!"

Quentin had only been poking him in the shoulder, not hitting. Not like Josh didn't deserve a slap or two, for that stupid amount he'd made them worry when his black hole spell didn't work, and Alice had psychoanalyzed him into—anyway, that didn't matter, did any of it matter? Eliot was alive. Charlie was back from the dead. After some healing, everyone and everything would probably be fine. Well, Quentin was still invisible and inaudible, but if life had taught him anything, it was that you couldn't have everything.

"Are you sure I'm not still dying?" Eliot asked. He was obviously still out of it—Janet was still petting his hair and he hadn't smacked her hands away yet. "You're wrong. I'm dying. I think I'm dying."

"Stop being a baby," Janet said. "It just _feels_ like you are."

"I want to see Quentin," Eliot sighed. "He'd know for sure."

"You see what I have to deal with?" Josh gesticulated at Plum. "And Alice looked at me _judgmentally_ for my complex! How else am I supposed to translate it when he says things like _that?_ "

Plum, who had no idea what Josh was blathering about, stared at him judgmentally.

Quentin, who kinda _did_ know what Josh was referring to, shook his head. He couldn't deal with that. He couldn't deal with any of it. His chest hurt and his ears were still ringing. Eliot let out a small sigh and his head lolled against Janet's knees. He almost looked like he was asleep. Quentin stared at his profile for a moment, trying to reconcile what he saw with the charming, entrancing Eliot who had been the first person he'd ever met at Brakebills. Even wrecked and exhausted, Eliot was still beautiful.

Quentin got to his feet and staggered back, shaking his head violently. Josh had gotten in his head, that's all. Alice used to be good at figuring out what people were feeling, but as much as Quentin liked to pretend otherwise, she wasn't fully human anymore, not really.

Even though he'd just been an assistant for the enchantment, he felt wiped out, like he'd been the one casting it. He needed some space, or some air. Something.

When he backed away, there was a benefit to being invisible: no one noticed him go.

* * *

At first he thought he might go outside, but it turned out it wasn't fully Janet's spell that had made it so cold out there, so Quentin ended up shoving his hands in his pockets and wandering around the new castle layout.

Even though it looked the same on first glance, walking around made it clearer that Janet had a hand in the layout this time. At least, it was clear to Quentin. The whole castle had a vibe now that reminded him of a Welters court. His heart ached. Janet wasn't his closest friend, but she'd been such an integral part of so much of his life, and she was a _good_ friend, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her.

He hadn't wanted to. Because then he would have to reconsider his decision to walk away from Fillory after mending it, and that wasn't something Quentin was keen to do. He was a different person now. He'd been remade by his new path in life. Onward and upward. That was how to do it.

As Quentin walked, he noticed the walls were starting to change color. At first, it was just a few tapestries, blue landscapes punctuated by soft pink roses. But the more he walked, the more he saw a pink color creeping down from the ceiling, like the walls were blushing.

He was considering turning back, finding a path outside after all—he still had access to his usual spells, and he could warm himself up—when he heard it. A whining noise. Had some of the spell escaped? That could be dangerous. Quentin didn't know how it would have happened, Alice was rigorous with her calculations, but if any of the enchantment had gotten detached, somehow, it was his responsibility to do something about it.

Or at least, discover it and alert Alice to it, while he still could, while she was still here. She would be wanting to nurse Charlie back into full health. Alice hadn't taken her own re-entry into humanity easily, and Charlie had been a niffin for longer than her. Although, Quentin wasn't sure how time really worked for niffins, because Alice had traveled throughout time and space in her span as a niffin. It would be a long battle for Alice, Quentin realized. He would be losing her to it even if they hadn't already decided to take different paths forward, but this felt more permanent than her previous idea, to visit the Neitherlands library and work on her magical theory.

It would take all of Alice's time and concentration if she was going to help Charlie regain his equilibrium, recover what he'd missed. Alice had needed so much support. It had taken them a lot of time, to get her to where she was now. He would see her much less even than he'd expected to. He was surprised to find the thought didn't hurt. He was happy for her.

That happiness felt like when he'd once seen a green shoots of life, forcing their way up through gray stone slabs in the Neitherlands, spring blossoms forcing their way into a space that hadn't been touched much by time before. It felt like the beginning of something bigger and stronger than him. Something vibrant. Quentin could take a moment to admire it, but then he'd have to move forward. Even if right now he wasn't sure where the path forward was this time.

And right now he wasn't even sure where he was, because he'd been following that whining sound, and it had stopped. Quentin looked around himself. He was in a square room that was pinker than the rest of the castle. This must be the shade of the building when it was Castle _Pink_ spire. He could see what was alluring about it. Under the honeyglow of Fillory's sunlight, it would be a warm and inviting color.

In the middle of the room was a crib. It was a beautiful one. Cloth hung around it, draped from the ceiling. Quentin found himself walking forward, pushing through the pink mesh almost automatically, like something was drawing him forwards. He smiled when he realized what the real source of the sound had been.

"You must be Prince George," Quentin whispered, peering over the edge. A familiarly round face greeted him. George was wrapped in a fluffy pink romper, swathed in pink blankets, and he had large round gray eyes. Recessive genes from both parents, Quentin thought idly, as George made a wet sound with his rosy little mouth and then gasped in a sound that Quentin decided must be a giggle.

There was a chair to the left of the crib, and a small table, including a half-drunk still-warm mug of a citrus tea-like drink Quentin found himself missing occasionally. The fact it was still hot meant Poppy had to be somewhere nearby. He'd probably only just missed her.

"You're kinda cute, I guess," Quentin said. George didn't respond, but then again, Quentin was busy being invisible and inaudible. "You must get that mostly from your mom." He paused. "I hope you get your brains from your mom too because your dad is an idiot."

George slow-blinked at Quentin in a way that oddly reminded him of Abigail the Sloth. She'd gone off with Bingle, to the Far Side of Fillory. He wondered if Bingle still had her, or if Abigail had taken up residence in one of the trees. Maybe even Julia's tree.

"Josh has been angry with me before," Quentin said, frowning. He had lashed out a few times, now Quentin was thinking about it. "I didn't know it was jealousy. There was nothing to be jealous about. Eliot's never paid any more attention to me than anyone." Even as he said that much, Quentin knew it was a lie. Eliot had brought him and Alice and Penny snacks when they were studying. He'd always been somewhat near, like the time when Penny punched him and Eliot was close enough for him and Josh to be able to separate them. Quentin had chalked that up at the time to it being a small campus, but that wasn't really true, was it?

Eliot had kissed him on the shore, when Elaine took his crown and Ember kicked him out of Fillory. _That_ much was true. But then Julia and Poppy had kissed him too. Eliot was just being polite. Quentin's mouth tingled when he remembered it. Eliot's had been the only kiss he'd felt of the three. And when Eliot gave him the watch, it had felt like a second heart, beating against his chest. So, okay, maybe—maybe Quentin had a bit of a thing for Eliot, after all. But that didn't mean anything. Quentin got impossible crushes sometimes. It was a coping mechanism. Eliot was certainly unachievable, like Julia. Wasn't he? He was. He was the King of a fantasy, magical kingdom that Quentin had been banished from. Quentin lived on Earth now. He had his own land. Fillory was somewhere he'd been and done, one time only. No repeats.

"I don't go back to places," Quentin said, staring at George. It helped sometimes, spilling your secrets to a stranger. A baby counted as a stranger, surely? "I don't go back. I move on. I move forwards. That's who I am now. Onward and upward."

George made a cooing sound and wriggled under his blankets. One of his chubby legs escaped from the pile. His feet were bare. Babies had very small everything. Quentin stared at George's tiny toes in fascination as he curled them. Quentin kinda wanted one. A baby wouldn't judge him. It would be nice, to have someone who loved him unconditionally.

"That's not Eliot," Quentin said. "Eliot doesn't love me."

George stared at Quentin. Quentin stared back. Were babies supposed to look that judgmental?

"He doesn't," Quentin insisted. Eliot would have kissed anyone like that. Eliot had sobbed like his world was ending, when he realized before Quentin did that Ember was banishing him, but—it was an emotional day! Being upset was totally understandable.

"Eliot cannot be in love with me," Quentin said, firmly.

George made a soft gurgling noise that got louder until Quentin sighed and covered up George's leg with the blankets again. God, Quentin was always such a pushover for children. He wanted them all safe and loved and protected. He wanted them all to have what he never had growing up.

Growing up without love, but desperately craving it, had left Quentin more of a mess than he'd ever really wanted to admit. He supposed it made sense that he found it difficult to recognize in himself. Would he have ever really noticed his feelings for Alice if she hadn't been the one to make a move, after Brakebills South? Alice was always so good at deciphering emotions. She was never wrong. Why was Quentin so desperately trying to prove her wrong now?

It was ridiculous. Quentin's chest hurt. His heart was pounding so fast. Alice _was_ never wrong. She was never wrong. Eliot was in love with him. _Eliot was in love with him._

Things made sense that shouldn't have made so much sense. The way Eliot had held on, when Quentin had gotten overcome and hugged him, that last time. And the silver watch Eliot gave him! Eliot must have carried it for over a year on that voyage on the Muntjac, questing and waiting to see if Quentin was ever going to make it back. Why would he do that for someone he had lukewarm feelings for?

And even just now, the only name Eliot had spoken while conscious had been Quentin's. More than once. Over and over.

"This can't be right," Quentin said, frowning down at George. George made a hiccupy sound that could be agreement. "Maybe this isn't Fillory and I've wandered into the Twilight Zone instead. Maybe I ate a bad mushroom."

"I don't know how anyone eats mushrooms," Poppy said. "I never really personally understood the texture of them."

Quentin startled at the sound of her voice, whacking his elbow off the edge of George's crib as he turned to face Poppy. Oh, but she suited being a Queen so much, or maybe it was new motherhood. It was a cliché, but she had a rosy glow to her face that set off the gems in her crown beautifully.

"Hi Quentin," Poppy beamed at him when he didn't respond immediately. "It's nice to see the niffin hasn't escaped and slaughtered us all. I see you've met George."

Quentin rallied his composure and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You can see me?

Poppy's pleasant expression faded into something a lot more dubious. "Okay, I might need the crazy man to step away from my baby."

Quentin's cheeks felt suddenly warm. "Oh. I was invisible." He supposed, as she was seeing him and responding to him, that it had finally worn off. "Briefly?"

"Oh," Poppy blinked. "Well. It's a good thing you're not invisible now, so you can meet your son."

Quentin's stomach lurched and he tried to think, but only got back blankness. Four-oh-four, brain not found. He struggled to speak, and after a brief, terrifying second where his gaze slid back to the baby in stupefaction, managed a very eloquent, " _What?_ "

Poppy clapped her hands delightedly as she leaned in to pick George up, nestling him in her arms and grinning at Quentin over the top of his straggly blond hair. "I'm _kidding,_ Quentin. God. You should see your face!"

Quentin resisted the urge to just flop on the floor from where he was standing. He was tall. It would be an ugly fall. "Don't shock me like that, I've had enough surprises for one day. I'm already freaking out."

"Oh?" Poppy rearranged the blankets around George, jiggling him up and down a little, and she pressed a kiss into her baby's forehead. She seemed happy. Quentin was glad someone was.

"I just found out Eliot's in love with me." Quentin spoke the words fast, eager to see her reaction. Maybe she would think it was ridiculous too.

"Well, duh," Poppy smiled at George. Then she glanced up, to where Quentin was standing slack-jawed. "Oh. You didn't know?"

"No."

"I thought you did. I mean. It was pretty obvious."

Quentin tried to respond coherently, but the confused noise that left his mouth would have to do.

"I mean, that's why I slept with you," Poppy said. She chuckled, a single musical note that somehow clearly said, _oh, the wacky hijinks of youth,_ even though it hadn't relatively been _that_ long ago. "You were clearly already attached. I wasn’t looking to fall in love—damn Josh for sneaking in on me like that—and your heart was clearly already occupied."

Quentin stared at her. "With Eliot."

"Yeah. Obviously."

"No, I refuse—there was no _obviously_ about it!"

Poppy sucked her teeth noisily. "Brakebills has a bad rep internationally, y’know." She stroked George's head in a contended daze. "I’m starting to see why. Do they even bother checking to see if your interpersonal skills are up to snuff, or do they just throw you at the world, overpowered and directionless?"

She was, Quentin acknowledged sourly, making _some_ sense. But not total sense. "I've never heard of interpersonal magic before," he said, wondering if it was some sort of Australian special sub-Discipline.

Poppy's cold stare was somewhat off-putting. "That answer," she said, slowly, "explains s _o_ much more about all of you than I wish it did."

* * *

Quentin did go outside for a while. The cool air was helpful. Now he was no longer invisible, he wasn't sure how ready he was to be seen. He turned his face upwards as the sky went dark for the noon Eclipse. This wasn't his kingdom anymore, but it was still familiar to him. Like a home.

Where was he going to go next? He was used to feeling unmoored, caught in the space between what he used to be and who he would become. Every other time, he tried to move forward and accept what was gone, what could never come back.

Fillory felt like his home, still. It was going to be harder to leave it a second time. The idea of staying tore at him. He'd always have that sensation inside of him, he supposed; it would be an open wound that would never heal. Without Ember and Umber around to pop up and stop up him with some whimsical speech, there was no one to enforce Quentin's exile. He would have to do it by choice, and that made it twice as hard as being thrown out.

But he had to do it. He had to go. Didn't he? There was nothing stopping him from staying. There was no one stopping him from staying.

Except himself.

Quentin stopped pacing and turned back to look at the castle. Castle Pinkspire now. Janet must finally be sleeping off her magic overload. Good for her. She'd done so well. She loved Eliot. Of course she would have given every little piece of strength she had to protect him. So would Quentin, if he'd had to. That didn't automatically mean he _loved_ Eliot.

Except he did, didn't he? Quentin fought the urge to put his face in his hands. He had to pull off his glasses and pocket them again. He was crying too hard to see anyway. He did love Eliot. How had he never really, truly seen it? He was out here, doing exactly what he did back in his first year at Brakebills, back when Eliot had abandoned him like a hot potato, and Quentin was under-stimulated in his schoolwork. He'd spent so much time just wandering around Brakebills, exploring. Sulking. That was probably the better word for it.

All this time moving forward, and somehow Quentin had ended up back in exactly the same place.

He almost laughed, except he was busy still crying. He wiped at his face with his shirt sleeves, before sliding his glasses back on and taking a deep, ragged breath.

What if he stayed? The thought hit Quentin like a sledgehammer, winding him. He'd been reluctant because Fillory felt like a step backward. But… Wasn't that the theme of the day? It was exactly the conclusion he came to earlier. Doing the same thing twice wasn't impossible. And sometimes when you did the same thing twice...

_The second attempt came out better._

Physically going backward didn't mean he had to _emotionally_ go backward. Onward and upward could be a feeling, not a situation or place. Suddenly, Quentin's future unfolded in front of him like a map, stretching out to cover the unexplored borders, and the infinite stars in the sky.

There were so many options. Fillory needed so many things. He thought fleetingly of Eleanor, and how she would have benefited from a Fillorian version of Child Social Services. He thought of how much he'd enjoyed teaching. Fillory didn't have schools. Or there were the hedgewitches back on Earth, abandoned and set loose from a system that didn't know how to support or protect them. They deserved protection and instruction too, to stop what happened to Julia happening to anyone else. And niffins! They had a workable solution now to bring niffins back. Uncontrollable magic didn't have to be a death sentence anymore.

Quentin had options, so many he didn't know which of them to start exploring first. He didn't know where to start. He swallowed, his mouth dry. Maybe he did know where to start, but it was terrifying.

* * *

Quentin deviated from where he probably should go first, but everyone needed time to rest and recuperate. He found a wing of unused bedrooms at the rear of the castle and took advantage of it, meaning to take a brief nap and waking up instead with the light of a new morning streaming in through the curtains.

One of the castle serving staff had obviously found him and dealt with the unexpected and unannounced guest. There was a change of clothes in Quentin's size on the chair by the bed, and a breakfast laid out for him on the table. When he washed up and got changed into the Fillorian clothing, he was surprised to realize they were _his_. Eliot must have saved them, somehow. Or had them remade.

Quentin ate slowly, relishing the familiar food. If the day's talks didn't go well, he still might end up wandering back to Earth. It might be nice to trek across his land alone. Except this time, he'd look out more carefully for baby Questing Beasts. He sipped at the tea provided and pulled a face. Maybe he could become the Lovelady of Fillory, except instead of mostly peddling magical snake oil, he could do a roaring trade in Earth curios. Sell rare and exotic imports to the locals, like caffeine, and decent cheese.

He was bubbling with ideas, but was that just because his stagnant period of no ideas at all had come to an end? Or was it because brainstorming was an effective procrastination tool, a way of putting off a conversation that would essentially decide on the direction he would be going next?

It was even more nerve-wracking now he _knew_ about his own feelings—and oh, did he feel stupid about _that._ The more he thought about it, the more he remembered things that embarrassed him. Seeing Eliot on his knees in the Observatory. The way they'd both laughed _so hard_ when they rowed down the river together. Eliot's hand on his shoulder when he'd broken down seeing a clock tree, realizing they'd reached Fillory. The way he'd stared like a lovelorn idiot at the watch Eliot gave him. How when Eliot appeared in his doorway, when niffin Alice was tormenting them, and Quentin hadn't even hesitated before giving in to the visceral palpable _need_ to hug him, right there then. That fateful, terrible threesome, where Eliot had been awake and involved the whole time.

But Quentin couldn't regret any of it, either. He'd loved Alice, truly, and fully. He'd had so many amazing experiences that he'd _needed_ , in order to become who he was now. He was surprised to find how much he liked himself now. Teenaged Quentin would never have believed that was possible. Maybe _adult_ Quentin was a hopeless mess when it came to figuring out his own emotions, but there were so many other things he could be proud of. He'd discovered the recipe for happiness after all, and it was complicated, and sometimes it _hurt_ , but it was real, and he knew how to find it, whenever he needed it.

He pushed his plate away and sighed. He was ready.

It didn't stop him from deviating one more time. There was no path Quentin could start on without knowing that he was walking away from an Alice that didn't need him. She was easy to find—as soon as Quentin headed up the hallway, he caught a glimpse of Plum, and she beckoned him over. Plum had _always_ been able to figure Quentin out, at least enough to manage him efficiently, and he wasn't surprised that she led him directly to a room where Alice was.

She was idly picking at her own breakfast, staring at Charlie as he slept. Quentin noticed the faint shimmer of latticework over him—a minor ward, designed to protect Alice if Charlie physically lashed out. Quentin's heart hurt for her. This was going to be a long rehabilitation process, but if anyone could do it, it was Alice.

"Quentin," Alice breathed when she saw him, and she smiled. "Nice to see you." She didn't look at him for long, but he didn't expect her to. Charlie was her focus now, as well he should be.

"I was going to say that," Plum said, cheerfully. She hovered at the foot of the bed, peering down at him. "How's he doing?"

"Confused," Alice sighed. Her free hand clenched, like she wanted to reach out and hold her brother's hand. "He doesn't remember what it's like to be connected to a physical body. I need to figure out how to remind him."

"Your favorite foods helped with you," Quentin offered.

Alice nodded. "I've got the castle chefs working on his favorite childhood dishes now. I had to ask them to lower their standards." The corner of her mouth lifted up. "Dad burned a lot of our dinners. Especially when the house had an open fire and no kitchen."

"I'm sure it'll help," Plum said. "Let me know if you need anything from Earth. Josh's portal control has tripled overnight."

"Was there anything else you did for me?" Alice glanced briefly at Quentin again. "I was so out of it for a while. And I was so _angry_. My memories are patchy." She looked angry that she had to admit that she even had a weakness.

Quentin tilted his head, thinking about it. "Whisky," he recalled. "And—oh. Um. Um." He flushed. "I don't think having sex with your brother is an option."

"Well," Alice said, equably, " _I_ can't. But if either of you want to give it a go..."

"And that's my cue to leave you two alone," Plum said, brightly, turning to leave. "Give me a shout if you need me." She paused by the doorway. "It was good to see you, Quentin."

Quentin smiled warmly at his once-protege. "It's good to be seen."

Plum closed the door behind her. The silence was a little awkward. It wasn't often that he felt uncomfortable when alone with Alice. But he did right now. How could he talk to her normally, when he'd just realized he'd been in love with someone else, maybe even while he and Alice were together?

Alice didn't feel the same awkwardness. Or if she did, she knew how to speak regardless.

Although Alice smiled at her brother, her question was obviously directed at Quentin. "You never knew how any of us saw you, back then, did you?"

"With hindsight, I can say it wasn't exactly one of my strengths."

"I was glad you never realized you had feelings for Eliot. It gave me a chance with you. I had _such_ a crush on you, right from the start, did you know that?"

Quentin stared at her. He hadn't had any clue. That didn't make any sense. Alice only really started to acknowledge him when she was _forced_ to, when Brakebills pushed them together into that tiny study group, and set them apart by accelerating them a year.

"I know the exact moment it happened. I wasn't the only one. Bigby asked you to show some magic, and instead of mustering what little energy you had left from your Entrance Exam, you put on a sleight-of-hand show."

Quentin remembered that class. He'd felt so inadequate, when Alice had followed his clownery with her beautiful, elegant, _actual_ magic. "I was a goofball," he muttered, self-consciously running his hand through his hair.

"I'm so introverted. I'd _never_ have had the courage to joke around like that, so confidently. Bigby's face was a riot. It was _hilarious._ That little golf swing at the end? You were a campus legend, right from that point on."

Quentin stared at her. His first instinct was to label it like he had Josh's confession, like it was revisionist history, an untrue romanticization of the past. But then he remembered Fogg saying that there were still rumors about him and the other Physical Kids. It was… possible that he had a reputation on campus.

Still, he had trouble swallowing it. "Me?" Quentin shook his head. "I find it hard to believe."

"God, I can't believe I thought you were just _modest_ , at the start. Until I realized how self absorbed you were. It’s funny, how someone can be so turned inwards and full of themselves and yet so painfully unselfaware."

Quentin shuffled. This kind of character assassination was painful. But maybe he needed it. Alice was always good at figuring out what he needed, even when he had no clue.

"Janet says there's a castle under the swamp that's empty now," Alice said. "She says I can take Charlie there. It'll be good to have space."

Oh. Under the swamp. That must be Castle Blackspire, from Rupert's journal. It was underneath Fillory, on the Far Side. The one place in the universe Quentin was probably still forbidden from going. Julia was the caretaker of that other place. She would keep its rules. Quentin had been allowed that single exception, that one visit with Julia to the Drowned Garden. So even though Quentin could probably technically try to follow Alice through the swamp to this other castle, he knew he wouldn't. She was going somewhere that he could not follow. But he had already made his peace with it, and he found inside himself nothing but happiness for her.

"I know it'll be hard, but if anyone can make your brother remember how good it can be to be human, I know it's you," Quentin said.

Alice finally looked fully away from Charlie to smile at him. "You're a good person, Quentin Coldwater. I'm glad I finally got to meet the man I always saw in you, right from the start."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to find him," Quentin said, surprising himself by saying something honest, and not his usual recourse: sarcasm. They smiled at each other awkwardly for a moment. "I… should go and speak to Eliot now, huh?"

Alice nodded. And blinked at him. A fair few times. "What are you waiting for?"

Quentin, who hadn't made the slightest attempt at actually moving, shrugged at her. "It's kind of scary. Approaching someone." He wrinkled his mouth. "It was never my forte."

Alice snorted, and turned her full attention back to her brother. "Believe me, I remember. I wasted so much time waiting for you to chase me. I should have clued in how useless you were at it when you only did it once you were a _fox._ "

"It's not my fault I was born with zero game."

"It's not _that._ Well. It's not all that. I know what your real problem is."

"Yeah?"

Alice smiled. "You're still the most unbelievable pussy."

Quentin grinned at her. The old phrase had slipped into another meaning, softer now. An in-joke between friends. Good friends. Maybe the best of friends. But friends, nonetheless. He left the room, still smiling at the thought.

* * *

Eliot was in his bedroom.

When Quentin pulled a maid aside to inquire where the High King had been relocated, she told him, and then ran away giggling. Quentin supposed it was probably his blushing that had caused her to react like that. He was barely anywhere near Eliot and he was already flushing like he was twelve years old and Julia had put her oboe to her pretty mouth.

Quentin took a deep breath. He'd already conceded to one cowardly impulse and checked that Janet, Josh, and Poppy would be elsewhere. He wasn't in the mood for Janet's snappy attitude, or Josh and Poppy's smug...everything.

This was fine. He was an adult. He could absolutely have a mature, coherent discussion with a friend. Right?

His confidence got him all the way to Eliot's bedroom, but he ran out of steam just on the threshold, ending up loitering awkwardly in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms, so he might have a fighting chance at looking casual, but his limbs were way too long. He probably looked like badly-folded origami.

By the time he straightened himself out and brushed himself down, Quentin realized that Eliot had already noticed him and, predictably, was chuckling at him.

Eliot looked a lot better, although he was in bed, and looked pale, even for him. His dark curls were splayed artfully over his pillows. His pajamas looked fancier than what Quentin wore as day clothes.

Quentin could barely breathe, just from this brief sight of him. Was this why he'd been so reluctant to come back to Fillory, when he and Alice had planned to crawl back to Eliot and beg for his help with Quentin's invisibility problem? Because just the sight of Eliot would punch a hole in his gut and make it harder for Quentin to maintain the illusion that he and Eliot were nothing but friends?

"I was led to believe you were currently… visibility-challenged," Eliot said.

"Oh, you know rumors," Quentin waved a hand airily as he padded into the room. He wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. No wonder Eliot always used to bring a bottle of something into Quentin's bedroom; Quentin would feel better if he was holding something right now.

"Thank you," Eliot said. "I know Alice did the actual spell, but she couldn't have done it without you. You saved my life, Quentin."

"I guess that means it belongs to me now," Quentin said, aiming for it to be a joke, but Eliot looked at him, quite seriously.

"I hope you treat it kindly, now it is yours."

Quentin couldn't breathe at all for a protracted moment from the intensity of that declaration. Did it mean something important, or was Quentin just reading things into it that he wished were there?

"I'll look after it as well as my own," Quentin promised.

Eliot barked a laugh, which turned into a mild cough, and Eliot frowned, like he was angry at his body's fragility. Human bodies were like that. Unbelievably fragile. Well, Quentin reasoned, if Charlie Quinn was irredeemably angry at his new body, he could always niffin out again. He had a choice now. And choices were important.

"Well, as Alice said you apparently spent a few days invisible, I'll reserve my judgment on how good a job you'll do with it."

"That's probably for the best," Quentin said. He felt skittish. Uncertain. He'd never approached anyone first in his _life_. Maybe now wasn't the right time to make a romantic advance. Eliot was still recovering. Maybe Quentin should just ascertain whether he had permission to stay before pressing to see whether there was potential for anything else.

"Alice also told me that you had a bit of a personal revelation, partway through," Eliot said, cutting though Quentin's thoughts. Eliot's gaze was suddenly dark and intense, and focused directly on Quentin.

Quentin's mouth was dry. He supposed that was permission to proceed on the topic. "I did," he said. How could two simple words feel so monumentally important? "I, uh—well, Alice really, she pointed it out, but Josh too, he—and it's not _new_ , but it was new to me, and—"

"Quentin, breathe," Eliot said. Quentin looked at him, almost fearfully, but Eliot was smiling, wide enough to make his cheeks ache. "It's okay. Even last year, I tried to convince myself that all I loved was Fillory. I guess it takes nearly dying to really get you to take a look at your own bullshit."

"Or someone you love nearly dying," Quentin said.

Eliot's face did something complicated. There was a small flush of red crowning his cheekbones. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I suppose that would do it too."

Quentin swallowed and he walked forward, keeping his steps light. He was the hunter and Eliot his prey, and he didn't want Eliot to spook. But with each of Quentin's steps forward, Eliot's gaze never wavered, and Quentin's heart beat faster. Quentin lowered himself down gingerly onto the bed, so he was sitting at Eliot's side, facing him, the quilt the only thing separating their legs. The warmth that Quentin could feel through the material made him feel stronger. Braver. He reached forward almost blindly, grasping for one of Eliot's hands, and holding the one he found between both of his own.

Eliot's fingers were cold. Quentin tightened his grasp and stared at Eliot, and Eliot wordlessly stared back. The air between them felt charged, energized. Quentin experimentally ran his thumb across Eliot's inner wrist and Eliot shuddered, his eyes half-shuttering. Quentin tracked every small moment, greedily.

"I missed you," Eliot whispered. "I never thought you'd come back. I thought you were done with Fillory. Done with me."

"I thought so too," Quentin admitted. Eliot's gaze dropped to their intertwined hands briefly. "But I was wrong."

"You were?" Eliot's eyes flew back up, and scraped over Quentin's face eagerly. If he _wasn't_ in love with Quentin, Quentin needed an alternate explanation for the sheer degree of that regard. He was starting to feel giddy. There wasn't much else it _could_ be. Somehow, for some reason, Quentin was starting to believe it was true. Eliot loved him.

"It happens to me sometimes," Quentin said. "Not often, you understand. Just sometimes."

"Oh. Just sometimes. I see."

"I thought it would be taking a step back. But I've started to learn that sometimes, you get a second chance. And you might on paper be doing the exact same thing, but it's also a chance. To try and do it better."

"So you're staying? In Fillory? With me?"

Eliot's eyes were so filled with hope that Quentin's heart tumbled happily.

"Yeah," Quentin said, and swallowed. This moment felt heavy, like it would take all his strength to respond. But Eliot was worth all that effort, and more. Now he wasn't shuttering himself to it, he could see love on Eliot's face, and he could hear the need in Eliot's voice. Eliot needed him. There was no better feeling in the universe. "With you."

"Good."

"It might not be easy," Quentin warned. "Certain... parties…. have made it clear that my—emotional and interpersonal skills… need some attention. And that I might be a bit slow on that front. But. I'll get there. Eventually. At least, _I'm trying_."

Eliot lifted up his hand, bringing Quentin's hands to his mouth, and he pressed a light kiss that shot right down Quentin's spine and out to every single one of his nerves, making them both tremble. That might be all Eliot had the energy to do right now, but the potential in just that brief kiss was enough to make Quentin feel shivery all over.

"Trying is good," Eliot said, letting their hands fall limply into his lap. "This isn't your second visit to Fillory, though. Technically. By my count, including various portal incidents, you're on at least your fourth trip."

Everyone was a comedian. "It's my second attempt at living in this castle. Uh. If there's space. I mean. I'm just assuming—"

"Oh, _you're_ staying in this castle," Eliot interrupted Quentin's attempt to start rambling. "Someone needs to keep an eye on me. I'm a hero now, didn't you notice? I might try and go careening into all _sorts_ of quests now. _Someone_ needs to hold me back."

"I can do that."

"Unfortunately we're running low on bunking space," Eliot sighed. Quentin opened his mouth to protest that there had clearly been a whole _wing_ of empty rooms, when Eliot added, "You'll have to move in with me, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Quentin thought about that. They'd have to share Eliot's bed. How _terrible._ "Well, if it can't be helped, I suppose that's okay."

Eliot laughed, and it turned out Quentin had to be the one approached in the end after all, because Eliot was the one to throw the corner of his quilt aside so he could lurch up and kiss Quentin.

Quentin kissed him back unreservedly. There was no need to hesitate. He already knew _this_ part of their relationship would be good. They had proof of concept. Quentin would always feel Eliot's kisses. And he'd always remember them, even in muddled, alcohol-drenched situations when he remembered little else. And now Eliot was kissing Quentin on purpose, and he felt stupid for ever thinking he'd _ever_ say no to something like this. He had thought he might, once. God, what a stupid kid he'd been, back then.

But he wasn't stupid now. Now he knew everything. And he'd never make that mistake again. Eliot loved him, and he loved Eliot back. This might never be _easy,_ but it was worth trying.

"So this second time," Eliot said as he pulled back, resting his forehead against Quentin's. "How's it going?"

"Already so much better than the first," Quentin said, as he leaned in to kiss Eliot again.

* * *


End file.
